


Fate Gets a Bad Case of the Shanks

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Breathplay, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, M/M, Minor Violence, Panty Kink, Porn With Plot, Prostitution, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Spanking, Suicidal Thoughts, This is not Pretty Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:04:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 84,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You impersonating a lawyer?  It would never work.”<br/>“Oh.  Right.”  Mike shrugged.  “So....?”<br/>Harvey stepped towards him, into his personal space, and scraped the business card back and forth over Mike’s lapel.  He leaned in until his lips were inches from Mike’s ear.  “So.  Here you are, in need of some fast cash.”<br/>“Uh.”<br/>Harvey was close enough that he could see the blush that rose up Mike’s neck and into his cheeks.  “And here I am, in possession of said fast cash.  Now, my question to you is, what, exactly, are you willing to do to earn it?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I post thee...I post thee not...I post thee.... Ah crap, not again. 
> 
> So I was amusing myself by pornifying the pilot ep., and this happened. Just a little summer silliness. More to follow.

 

Harvey stared across the desk at Mike, impressed in spite of himself. The kid seemed to be the real deal. He had smarts, originality, that incredible memory -- _but_...no law degree. That was a pity. Still, something about him appealed to Harvey. He was so fresh faced and bright eyed that Harvey just wanted to filthy him up. He’d appeared out of nowhere, conjured up like a rare prize that Harvey didn’t want to let get away. The challenge of trying to pass him off as a real attorney intrigued him, and he allowed him to really consider it for a moment.

 

It sounded...fun. He never had any fun anymore. Seeing that young face every day would certainly add a huge dollop of spice to his life. From his quick wit to his slender, bike-messenger body and big blue eyes, he was exactly Harvey’s type. Best of all, holding a secret like that over the boy’s head would give him leverage for...pretty much anything he wanted.

 

 _I am a bad, bad man_ , he told himself, imagining some of the the possible scenarios such a situation could provide.

 

He exhaled heavily. No. The kid was a pot dealer in training -- a felony waiting to happen. What the hell was Harvey thinking? He had far too much to lose, especially with his newly minted senior partnership. Tempting, but not worth the risk. Pushing aside his regret, he let go of the idea for good, held out his hands, palms up, shaking his head.

 

“Nah, kid,” he said, “can’t do it.”

 

Mike’s cocky slouch disintegrated. He nodded, lips pinched together, not meeting Harvey’s eyes. “Yeah. I figured.” He stood up and moved to the briefcase full of pot, squatted next to it to check and double-check the latches, then stood again, clutching the case in both arms. “Crazy idea, right? Me, a lawyer. How stupid. Well. Thanks for letting me hide out here and spill my guts. That’s not embarrassing at all. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to....” He gestured toward the outer room and all of the Harvard educated candidates waiting there.

 

Harvey watched him walk dispiritedly towards the door, studying the defeated slope of his shoulders and the way he worried his lower lip in his teeth. “Wait.” The word popped out, surprising them both, but with it came another, far better idea. _Oh, yes, I am a bad man._

 

Mike stopped and stared at Harvey expectantly, hope lighting again in his eyes. “Really?”

 

Harvey dipped two fingers into the inner pocket of his jacket, extracting one of his cards. “What? No. Still a bad idea. You impersonating a lawyer? It would never work.”

 

“Oh. Right.” Mike shrugged. “So....?”

 

Harvey stepped towards him, into his personal space, and scraped the business card back and forth over Mike’s lapel. He leaned in until his lips were inches from Mike’s ear. “So. Here you are, in need of some fast cash.”

 

“Uh.”

 

Harvey was close enough that he could see the blush that rose up Mike’s neck and into his cheeks. “And here I am, in possession of said fast cash. Now, my question to you is, what, exactly, are you willing to do to earn it?”

 

Mike’s arms tensed, tightening around the briefcase. “Sell pot?”

 

Harvey laughed lightly. “Evidently. But would you care to try something less likely to get you thrown in jail?” He dragged his card up Mike’s chest to his neck, trailed it lightly across his bobbing Adam’s apple and up to the shell of his ear, which he teased with the corner of the card.

 

Mike’s head pulled back infinitesimally and his eyes grew wider. He licked his lips, accentuating their pink coloring. “Okay. This just got weird.”

 

Harvey shrugged, tucked his card in Mike’s pocket and stepped back. Mike appeared flustered and off-balance and Harvey was loving it. “It’s only weird if you let it be, Mike.” He considered his words for a minute before continuing. “I’ll be honest with you. I like you, kid. I’d like to help you out, but I can’t just give you the money you need out of the goodness of my heart. Plenty of people would tell you I don’t have a heart.” He paused, waiting for Mike to say something, but the boy seemed to have lost his glib tongue for the moment. His face still flamed red, but he had an intent look on his face, indicating that he was listening, so Harvey continued his pitch.

 

“I received excellent news at work recently. A promotion. I’d like to celebrate, to give myself a little treat. And here you are, needing money so very badly.” He waited. Mike’s throat bobbed again and a hoarse, strangled sound squeaked out, but that was all. “Oh come on, Mike. You’re a smart boy. Do I need to spell it out for you?”

 

The briefcase slipped from Mike’s arms and hit the floor with a muffled thud. The latches held this time. “So,” Mike began, but his throat seemed to close up on him. He swiped a hand over his forehead and through the hair on the top of his head.

 

“Why don’t you sit down,” Harvey said kindly, gesturing to the chair behind the desk. When Mike made his stumbling way there and sat, Harvey poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the desk and waited until Mike had gulped most of it down. His face had gone pale and he refused to meet Harvey’s eyes. Harvey sat in the chair on the other side of the desk and waited. He hadn’t paid out a dime yet, and already he was enjoying himself.

 

As if suddenly too hot, Mike stripped off his suit jacket and let it slide to the floor. “I’m...let’s be clear. Is this about sex?”

 

Right to the point. Harvey liked that. “Sure. But not just that. We mentioned $25,000, which is not a problem for me, but still, objectively speaking it’s a good chunk of money. Let’s see....” He thought about it for half a minute, eyeing Mike speculatively, enjoying the way the boy squirmed nervously and loosened his tie, as if suddenly experiencing problems breathing. “Have you been fucked by a man before?” Mike nodded jerkily. “All right. That’s good. How does this sound? I get you for five, non-consecutive twenty-four hour periods. Five thousand dollars apiece.”

 

“Um.” Mike cleared his throat, took a sip of water, and tried again. “You ‘get me’? What’s that mean? How, exactly would that work?”

 

“I mean that for that twenty-four hours, you would belong to me. You would be required to do anything I asked, be anyone I wanted you to be. Is this about sex? Certainly. But if I told you to give me a pedicure or bake me a cake or let me sip single malt scotch out of your navel, you would do all of that, no questions, no arguments.” He watched Mike’s face as the boy took all of that in. “Well? Does that sound like something you could agree to?”

 

Mike shifted his gaze to his hands, which gripped one another on top of the desk. He gave an explosive puff of air and shook his head a little. “Wow. That’s...this is how hotshot attorneys reward themselves? You know, I seem to remember Demi Moore getting a million bucks for something similar.”

 

“Seriously? You’re negotiating with me? This is a whim, kid. Don’t go valuing yourself too highly.” He saw the quick look of hurt which flashed across Mike’s face, but that didn’t slow him down for a second. He plowed ahead, going for the kill like the shark he was. “Get this straight. You mean nothing to me. I could walk down the street and find twenty kids cuter than you who would take considerably less for the same thing. Hell, half of the guys in the next room would do it just for the slim hope of a second interview. I’m offering you an easy way out of your money problems. The offer is on the table for another thirty seconds and then I shrug, have security escort you out of the building, and never think about you again. So what’s it going to be?”

 

To Mike’s credit, he stiffened his spine and sat up straighter, met Harvey’s gaze with one nearly as steely, and asked, “Do I get a safe word?”

 

“Nope. But you won’t need one. Yes or no?”

 

“No disfigurement.”

 

Harvey grimaced. “Of course not. Fifteen seconds.”

 

“I...I think I agree, but what if I can’t make it the whole twenty-four hours? Will you pro-rate the full amount?”

 

“No. You stick it out or you get nothing. I doubt you’ll want to leave, though. You might even beg for more. Now, time’s up. Did I hear a yes back there somewhere?”

 

Mike groaned, clutched the back of his head and leaned back in the chair. “Oh god...this is crazy. But yes. I guess. Yes, you’ve got a deal.”

 

Harvey briefly savored the moment, enjoying his victory. “Great. Now get the hell out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

 

Mike stared at him and then stood up. “Okay. So when...?”

 

“Probably this weekend. You’ve got my card. Call me tomorrow morning.”

 

Mike backed toward the door, mouth half open. Harvey snatched his jacket off the floor and tossed it to Mike. When Mike’s hand touched the doorknob, Harvey barked out, “Stop.” Mike flinched and Harvey suppressed a grin at the highly entertaining reaction. “Don’t forget your briefcase.” He pointed at the floor and watched Mike stoop to retrieve it, and then hover at the door as if unsure how to end their meeting.

 

Finally, Mike tapped his jacket pocket once, said, “I’ll call you,” and left the room.

 

“Will you?” Harvey murmured into the empty room. “I guess we’ll see how badly you want that money.”

 

He walked to the doorway to see which boring little Harvard douche bag Donna had queued up for him.

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

Mike stared at the business card which lay on his coffee table. He had his phone in one hand and had starting dialing the office number for Harvey Specter, Attorney-at-Law, three times already, and three times he had hung up before hitting the final digit. He set the phone down next to the card, rubbed has damp palms over his jeans and tried to slow the jarring thud of his heart.

 

Had he really agreed to this? Was he that desperate for money?

 

Maybe it wasn’t too late to call Trevor and beg for the pot back so he could finish the buy.

 

 _Yeah, right. Because look at how well that went the first time_.

 

He forced himself to imagine what might have happened if he’d been arrested yesterday, to picture the cell he’d be sitting in right now. He could almost smell the stale urine and sweat, feel the interested gaze of his cell mate and taste the despair.

 

No, his near miss had left him with no desire to go down that road again. So...drug dealing, out; prostitution, in?

 

He could almost laugh at the absurdity his life had become, if not for the very real obligation he felt for his grandmother. Harvey had pegged him exactly right: he was desperate for fast cash. And what did he have to lose, really? If Harvey wanted him to return for all five sessions, he couldn’t treat him too shoddily.

 

Could he?

 

Mike didn’t get a serial killer vibe from the guy, but that’s probably what a lot of victims told themselves just before the mask came off and the knives came out.

 

He ran a finger over the face of the business card, tracing the raised letters. He felt like he should be appalled and offended that a strange man had made him such an offer as if fully expecting him to agree. And he did feel that way, a bit. More strongly, though, he felt...aroused. His attraction to Harvey had been immediate when he’d blundered into the interview room. The man’s good looks and arrogance had not just pushed his buttons, they had played an erotic symphony over his nerve endings.

 

Now, as he sat in his living room, staring down at his phone, he acknowledged to himself the frightening realization that he wanted -- no, _craved_ \-- Harvey’s orders. He rubbed at his lower lip, sucked his finger between his lips and closed his eyes, imagining elegant, unfamiliar hands moving expertly and impersonally over his skin, seeking and finding all of his secrets and making him....

 

“Oh, god,” he groaned. He was going to do this. He picked up the phone and with shaking fingers he tapped out Harvey’s phone number.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Mike arrived early to the first appointment, courtesy of a massive attack of nerves and a cab driver who seemed to have little patience with the rules of the road. The phone conversation with Harvey had consisted mainly of Harvey setting down the law, dictating the time and place of their assignation, and directing Mike on what preparations he should make before presenting himself for Harvey’s pleasure.

So here Mike was, squeaky clean inside and out, dressed in a loose pair of jeans and a too tight Yankees t-shirt, hair mussed and devoid of product. From Harvey’s fairly specific instructions, Mike had gathered that he wanted Mike to appear young and innocent. Which was weird and a wee bit kinky but not alarmingly so.

Mike had taken the initiative and slicked his lips up with clear gloss, hoping to enhance his youthful appearance, but afraid now that it made him appear slutty. Well, sluttier. Once you’ve agreed to sex for money, slutty was pretty much a given. If he’d been a woman, he supposed Harvey would have had him dress up in a short plaid skirt and knee socks. That is, if he was reading Harvey correctly. Hell, for all he knew, Harvey might still have him dress up like that. Mike wasn’t sure what he’d do if that came up. Nah, who was he kidding? Of course he’d do it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried drag before. In fact, more than one person had assured him that his soft features made it a good look on him. Yeah, he’d wear a skirt for Harvey, if that’s what he asked for.

And how weird was it that he was already thinking of Harvey in terms of a client whose wishes should be anticipated and indulged?

Glad for the loose fit of his jeans, and trying to ignore the fact that all these thoughts of catering to Harvey’s fantasies had him half hard, he stared up at Harvey’s building, impressed. He regulated his breathing, trying to calm both his nerves and his libido. Then he pulled the baseball cap from his back pocket and set it on his head, back a little from his face, a position he had settled upon after studying himself in the mirror and deciding that angle made him look the most innocent, even more so than turning the bill around to the back.

Suddenly fearful of being late (Harvey had warned him against that, in scarily intense terms), he forced his legs to move, to propel him forward, into the building, past the too interested doorman, and onto the elevator. _You can do this,_ he cheered himself on. _Just close your eyes and think of Grammy. No no no. Scratch that. Abort. Abort. Do not think of Grammy._

He was lecturing himself so fervently, that he failed to realize that the elevator had reached the penthouse until the doors opened and he was faced with a short hallway and an inside door which stood wide open. Licking his lips, he stepped forward, feeling absurdly like Dorothy on her way to meet the Wizard. Except that Dorothy had brought allies with her to keep up her courage. Mike could have sworn his knees were shaking a little as he stood at the threshold to Harvey’s condo and cleared his throat.

“Hello,” he called, telling himself the squeak at the end of the word was just part of the act.

“Come in and close and lock the door behind you.”

The voice came from somewhere inside. Mike entered and did as requested, noting the low lighting, and then moved into the living room. He found Harvey there, sitting in the early evening gloom on a black leather sofa, looking relaxed, drinking a beer. Soft R&B guitar riffs filled the room. Unlike the first time Mike had seen him, Harvey was dressed casually in jeans and a plain black t-shirt that probably cost more than Mike made in a week as a bike messenger. The tight, short sleeves of the shirt accentuated his nicely muscled arms.

Not sure if he should sit or remain standing, Mike halted at the arm of the sofa and waited.

Harvey too a sip of his drink. “You’re late.”

Mike gave a jerk of surprise and widened his eyes. “I don’t think so.”

Harvey smiled thinly and spoke, not unkindly. “I’m only going to say this once, and with your bionic memory I’m confident that you’ll remember: just go with it, Mike.” He took another sip before setting the bottle down on the coffee table. His gaze seemed to take in every detail of Mike’s appearance, eyes going darker as they lingered on his lips.

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Mike felt himself flushing. He took a deep, gulping breath and exhaled, trying to push away his nerves and any lingering concerns about his dignity. Hanging his head, he whispered, “You’re right. I forgot about the time and I’m late. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Oh, you will.” Harvey held out a hand. “Come here.”

When Mike was within touching distance, Harvey rested his palm against Mike’s arm and ran it up and down before pulling him closer. Mike found himself standing between Harvey’s spread legs with Harvey’s hands holding his hips. Uncomfortable and already questioning his decision to go through with this, Mike kept his gaze fixed over Harvey’s shoulder, on the wall behind him. He felt Harvey’s hand slide underneath his shirt, fingers skimming over his ribs, his nipples, and around to the small of his back before dipping past the loose waistband of his jeans and squeezing his ass. Throughout the tactile inspection, he was aware of Harvey’s gaze traveling up and down, assessing his new possession.

He couldn’t read Harvey’s expression well enough to know whether or not he met with his approval, and before he could decide one way or another, Harvey spoke again, instructing him.

“Turn around. Slowly. That’s it. Stop.”

He was facing away from Harvey now.

“Unfasten you pants and pull them down to your thighs.”

_Don’t think. Just go with it._ And Mike did. He opened the top button, lowered the zipper (it sounded thunderously loud in the expectant stillness), dragged his jeans down and paused, uncertain, fingertips resting just underneath the band of his white briefs. “Um. Should I -- ?”

Harvey breathed out (had he been holding his breath?), lifted Mike’s shirt, and caressed first Mike’s back and then his bare stomach. “Shh. Try not to speak unless I ask you a direct question.” Mike must have tensed at the reproof, and Harvey rested his head against Mike’s back. “Just do your best, baby. Unclench a little. This isn’t going to work if you’re tensed up like this.” He continued to run his hands over Mike’s torso, then suddenly hooked one arm around him so he could lean forward and retrieve the beer bottle from the coffee table. “Would you like a drink to help loosen you up?”

Mike nodded and then, realizing he’d been asked a question, he managed, through a suddenly dry mouth, “All right. Thank you.”

He reached for the bottle, but Harvey pulled it out of reach. “Uh uh. Turn towards me and open up your mouth.”

Mike did as he asked, only to find Harvey frowning up at him. “On your knees, I think.”

His jeans were still shoved halfway down his thighs, and although he tried to kneel gracefully, he was afraid he looked ungainly and gauche as he fell to his knees. He shut his eyes for half a second, took a quick, calming breath and tipped his head up, mouth falling open.

Harvey reached towards Mike as if he meant to stroke his face, then seemed to change his mind and grabbed the brim of his cap before tossing it onto the table. He held the bottle against Mike’s lower lip. “Go on,” he urged. “Drink up.”

Involuntarily, because it was right there, Mike’s gaze darted to Harvey’s crotch and away again, and he felt himself blush, which was stupid. He was no stranger to cock, had given head to men he’d known for a much shorter time than he’d known Harvey. Why was this all throwing his so badly?

“Mike. Relax. You’re doing fine. Fuck, just looking at you like that is making me hard. All you need to worry about is following directions. You can be good for me, can’t you?”

Mike cleared his throat. “I want to be good.”

Harvey didn’t smile, exactly, but his dark eyes seemed to warm. “Then be a good boy and drink.” He pushed the bottle against Mike’s lower lip again, and Mike angled his head back slightly. When Harvey tipped the bottle, Mike drank greedily, managed one healthy swallow of the malty beverage before Harvey poured too fast, making him choke and cough. His eyes teared up and beer foamed down his chin.

Harvey frowned at him, as if disappointed. “Wasteful boy,” he chided, wiping Mike’s chin with his thumb, then holding it out until Mike licked it clean. Finally, he set down the bottle, gazed down at Mike and touched his finger to his lower lip. Without being asked, Mike sucked the finger into his mouth and Harvey chuckled. “Look at that sweet, greedy little mouth. I can see we’re going to have to make good use of that. But I’m getting ahead of myself.” He gently extricated his finger from Mike’s mouth. “You’ve almost made me forget your punishment. That was naughty of you.”

Mike had forgotten as well. His pulse sped up and he couldn’t decide if he was more apprehensive or turned on at the moment. He felt a finger underneath his chin, lifting his head.

“Pay attention, baby. It’s all right. Don’t look so worried. Here, let’s get you back up on you feet.” He helped Mike to stand before guiding him even closer to Harvey. “Take off your shirt. Very nice. Oh, you’re lovely, aren’t you?”

He rubbed his palms up Mike sides, pinched his nipples to hardness. Although the room temperature was comfortable enough, Mike shivered and had to resist the urge to cross his arms over his midsection.

Harvey’s deep, almost hypnotic voice continued. “Turn sideways. Close to me. Right up against my leg. Now bend over. You can rest your arms and upper body on the cushion. Stick that cute little butt in the air. Good. Beautiful.”

Mike felt ridiculous, half lying across Harvey’s upper thigh with his ass in the air. But Harvey obviously found the sight appealing. He stroked Mike’s ass through his briefs and Mike felt the other man’s hard cock against his ribs as he lay there, trying not to squirm, not to grind himself against Harvey’s jean-clad leg.

A cool palm slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs and glided over his ass, one side and then the other. It left him for a moment, and then he felt his briefs being pulled down. “Lift up,” murmured Harvey, and Mike did, allowing the briefs to be pulled down to join his jeans around his thighs. “Very nice,” Harvey breathed. Mike felt both hands on him now, parting his cheeks. A quick, hard gust of air made his ass tighten a little, and Harvey chuckled darkly.

Harvey let go of him, and Mike heard rustling on the other side of Harvey. “Now,” the older man said conversationally, “do you know what happens to bad boys who are late for their appointments?”

Mike had a few guesses, a couple of preferences. He squirmed a little, making sure Harvey could feel his hardening dick, and said in a meek, breathless voice, “Please, sir, I didn’t mean to disobey you. I’ll be a good boy. I promise.” _Crap. Was that laying it on a little too thick?_ He felt Harvey swell against him. _Nope. Bullseye._

Harvey chuckled again. “You say that, but how will you ever learn if I don’t show you?”

Mike squirmed some more, and damn if that didn’t feel good, so he did it again, feigning distress that was only partly made up. “Oh, god,” he moaned, “I want to be good. Want to be your good boy. What are you going to do to me?”

Harvey slapped his thigh smartly, but without any real force. “Hush now, sweetheart. No more talking. You’re going to take what I give you and you’re going to like it. I want you to remember, this is for your own good.”

_Yikes. Here we go._ Mike waited while Harvey prepared something he couldn’t see, nerves surfacing once more, prepared to jump up and run for the door if Harvey tried something too extreme. He braced himself for just about anything, but still wasn’t ready for the feel of Harvey’s slicked up fingertip making contact with his entrance. He gave an involuntary jump and released a little, “Ah,” of surprise and then settled back down, realizing that Harvey was waiting for him to relax. He did his best and was rewarded by the sensation of Harvey’s fingertip probing him, just a shallow penetration and retreat, followed by a gentle massage. Mike wriggled his butt, encouraging more contact. If this was punishment, he wanted more of it.

“That’s good, huh?” Harvey whispered, pressing a little deeper, his other palm cupping Mike’s ass cheek, keeping him open and exposed. “You like that, don’t you?” He put a little more force behind the probe, pushing firmly but gently until his second knuckle breached the tight ring. Mike shifted backwards into Harvey’s finger, circled his hips tightly, searching for more. “Yeah,” Harvey breathed. “That’s it. So tight. Dirty boy. You love it. Want to fuck my finger, don’t you?”

Mike forgave him the cliche porn patter, because he did, in fact, love what Harvey was doing, loved it even more when Harvey added a second finger, shoved a little too roughly, and zeroed in on Mike’s prostate. He squawked, seeing stars, and moaned shamelessly as he alternately ground down on Harvey’s fingers and humped his leg.

Harvey laughed his low filthy laugh once more, and Mike went a little crazy, speeding up his movements only to be brought up short with a wordless whine when Harvey withdrew his fingers. “God, you’re so responsive,” said Harvey, and maybe he meant it as praise and maybe he didn’t, but Mike soaked it up like a sponge. And he couldn’t seem to stop humping against Harvey’s leg. A strong arm clamped down across the back of his thighs, holding him immobile. “Shh. Slow down. You’re not going to come yet. I bought some toys, just for you. Let’s see how you like something besides my fingers inside you.”

_Your dick,_ Mike wanted to demand. _I’d really like your dick inside me now_. But Harvey was calling the shots, and it hadn’t been bad so far. Not at all. He dared a glance over his shoulder, and was so taken by the sight of his naked back and ass, his pants and briefs at half mast, contrasting with a fully clothed Harvey, that it took him a moment to focus on what Harvey was doing. He held a medium sized dark purple dildo in one hand while his other hand coated it with lube, moving in an efficient twisting motion that Mike wished he would use on him. He sighed, unconsciously arching his back.

“Patience, baby.” Harvey finished prepping the dildo and gave Mike a speculative look. “God, you’re a natural at this, aren’t you?” He brandished the dildo at Mike and it wobbled a little. “I think my dirty boy is dying to have this inside of him. Little slut.” The way he said it made it sound almost affectionate. “Hm. Stand up a minute.”

Mike felt perfect where he was, but he kept any complaints to himself and struggled to his feet. Harvey stood too, produced a large, soft towel from behind the sofa, spread it over the couch, and then helped Mike lie on his back, his head and neck supported by a pillow, another pillow shoved under his hips, knees bent, and his feet resting on the wide arm of the sofa. “Relax,” Harvey urged. “Let you legs fall apart.” He studied him, as if assessing a piece of art he was working on. “God. You look so pretty and needy like that, with your pants half off and your cock hanging out.” He stepped closer and tugged off Mike’s shoes and socks. Mike briefly worried that his feet might smell, but that thought vanished as soon as Harvey perched on the edge of the coffee table and began rubbing the head of the dildo back and forth across Mike’s hole. “Tell me. Speak to me now. Do you want this inside you? Do you think your tight little hole can take it?”

“I...” Mike suddenly found it difficult to verbalize. “Yeah. I think I do. I can.”

Harvey applied a little pressure, forcing the purple head inside of Mike. “Come on,” he whispered, dark gaze focused on Mike’s entrance. “You can do better than that. Let me hear you beg for it, baby.”

“Please.” The dildo went another half inch into his rectum and Mike gasped. “Ah. I do. I want it. Want it so bad. Want to feel it. I’ll be good for you. I’ll be your good boy. Just...ahhhh.” He pressed down and Harvey rewarded him by pushing the dildo further. “Yes,” Mike sighed as his body accepted the intrusion. “I want it. I want it. I want it. Feels so good.” He felt something ease inside him and the dildo slid all the way home. “Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.” He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fuck down on the dildo. Instead of letting him, Harvey pressed a hand firmly to Mike’s abdomen, holding him down.

“That’s enough. Stay still. Good boy.”

Mike felt Harvey work the dildo in and out and then angle it so that it rubbed against his prostate. He took a breath, preparing to moan his approval, but then the dildo began to vibrate and he nearly flew out of his skin. “Oh god. Ohmygod.” His hips jerked convulsively and he reached for his cock to jerk himself off, but hands gripped his wrists and then his arms were above his head and Harvey stood behind him holding his arms so he couldn’t touch himself. The dildo vibrated inside him, flush against his prostate and he could only hump the air and howl while his balls tightened and he felt sharp pleasure gathering in his lower belly and Harvey said, “Come now,” and for the first time in his young life Mike came without touching his cock, and he shot so hard that hot cum splashed against his chin and neck.

Aftershocks continued to shudder through him. The vibrator stopped abruptly and a second later the dildo was pulled free. He was floating, a little stunned by his reaction. He heard himself panting harshly, and fought to bring his breathing and heart rate back to normal.

_Was that supposed to be punishment?_

After a time, he recalled where he was, and why, and his eyes drifted open. He was alone, sheened with sweat and dripping with cooling cum. He began to sit up.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” came Harvey’s voice behind him. “Who said you could move? Lie still, kid. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Mike relaxed and turned his head to see Harvey with another towel and a damp washcloth. Feeling absurdly shy after the display he had just put on, Mike lay passively and let Harvey wash the cum off of him and then towel off the worst of the perspiration. He wasn’t sure if he was still supposed to be in character, and he was just as happy to keep quiet. After Harvey had cleaned him, he eased Mike out of his jeans and briefs and helped him to sit up. Harvey, still fully clothed, opted to stay on the coffee table. Mike gave Harvey’s crotch a curious glance and noted that Harvey’s erection still strained against his jeans.

Harvey, of course, had noticed his glance and gave an amused grunt. “Don’t worry, kid. We’re getting to that. First, would you like something to drink? Glass of water? Beer? Something stronger?”

Mike thought about it and finally answered, “Ice water would be great.”

Harvey pointed to Mike’s left. “Kitchen’s over there. Bathroom’s past it, down the hallway, if you need it. you can take these dirty towels with you. Hamper is in the room next to the bathroom. And fetch me a bottle of Ipswich Dark Ale on your way back.”

Mike paused.

_Fetch._

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten, even for a few seconds, why he was here. “Yes, sir,” he said, trying but probably failing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Whatever you say, sir.” He gathered up the towels and washcloth, and although he didn’t need it, he took his naked ass down the hall to the bathroom.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Harvey watched Mike’s ass until it was out of sight. It was well worth the ogle. Mike kept himself in shape. He allowed himself a satisfied smile and checked his watch. Barely an hour had passed, and the kid had earned every cent of his first two hundred and some dollars. Harvey appreciated beauty, and the kid had been so beautiful coming apart like that, back arched, cock flushed and curving so prettily, his pink mouth stretched open while -- god, he’d _screamed_ as he came, and Harvey had nearly come in his jeans watching and listening to his boy....He frowned thoughtfully. Not his, not really. But he wouldn’t think about that now. He still had him for twenty-three hours, and he was going to make sure that Mike felt each and every one of those hours, both inside and out, when he left here tomorrow. And if he chose to come back for another go, and another, and another and another...if that happened, well, then they’d see.

Right now, though, Harvey needed to decide how Mike was going to get him off. So many choices.

 

When Mike finally emerged from the bathroom and padded to the kitchen for their drinks, Harvey knew what he wanted. He’d moved back to the sofa, and when he accepted the bottle of ale from Mike, he gave the boy’s naked body a slow perusal, loving the way Mike flushed, even though he stood still and did his best not to fidget. “Thank you,” Harvey said. Mike didn’t move, so he said, “Down.” Predictably, Mike moved toward the sofa, but Harvey snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor. “On your knees. You’ll be there for a while, but if it becomes uncomfortable, feel free to sit. On the floor, of course.”

Mike dropped to his knees and Harvey took a long drink of the overpriced beer, admiring the pale, toned body in front of him. The boy had decent form, hands at the small of his back, head slightly inclined, back straight. Unable to resist, Harvey reached out and laid a hand on Mike’s head, digging his fingers into the boy’s soft hair before moving his thumb to Mike’s lower lip. “Look at me,” he murmured, and Mike’s blue gaze slowly lifted. Keeping his eyes on Mike, Harvey pushed his thumb between Mike’s lips. “Go on, kid, let’s see what you’ve got.” And just that easily, Mike began to gently suckle Harvey’s thumb, blue eyes growing soft and a little distant.

Mike’s cheeks hollowed slightly, and Harvey rubbed himself through his jeans. Finally, he raised the bottle and swallowed the rest of the ale, never taking his gaze from Mike’s. He pulled his thumb from between Mike’s lips, amused by the way Mike chased after it. Harvey petted the boy’s head again, noting the look of vulnerability and longing in the kid’s eyes. Damn, he was a good actor.

Harvey unfastened his pants, keeping his eyes locked with Mike’s. The front of his boxer briefs were damp from his leaking cock, which was outlined clearly by the thin material. He pushed the waistband down, releasing his cock, and nearly laughed at the way Mike widened his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A little over-acting there, but Harvey would give him points for effort. “You like what you see, kid?”

Mike licked his lips.

“Well, get over here,” Harvey said, voice hoarse. He rested his hand on Mike’s shoulder, fingers stroking as if they had a will of their own. “Now, keep in mind, it’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon. Get comfortable and make it last. If you need to take a break, drink some water, or shift positions, all you have to do is ask. Other than that, though, your mouth remains on me, soft, slow and wet, until I indicate by word or touch that I’m ready to finish. Nod if you understand.”

Mike nodded, swallowed as if summoning up some saliva, and lowered his mouth over the head of Harvey’s cock, tonguing delicately, working Harvey with his lips. His eyes drifted shut and Harvey drank in the sight of the boy, kneeling between his legs, so absorbed in pleasing him. Harvey petted his head lightly, traced a finger down the side of Mike’s face, feeling the subtle movements of his cheek muscles as he suckled Harvey. He removed his hands from Mike, letting them lie at his sides, and leaned back, slitting his eyes so he could continue to watch Mike.

“A little deeper please. But keep it soft and slow.”

Mike’s eyes opened, dazed and blue. Harvey felt it when he swallowed reflexively and then Harvey’s cock disappeared a little more deeply into Mike’s mouth. Mike lost his balance and jerked back, releasing Harvey and flushing. He was panting a little.

“It’s fine, kid. You’re doing great. Hold onto my legs for balance if you need to.” He ran the back of two fingers over Mike’s cheek, whispered, “Such a good little whore.” He applied light pressure to the back of Mike’s head and was rewarded by the sight of Mike bending his neck gracefully once more and swallowing half of Harvey’s cock. His tongue lapped greedily, his cheeks hollowed every so often as he increased suction, and small mewling sounds escaped him. “Easy,” said Harvey. “Take it easy. We’re just going to tread water for a while, okay?”

The kid’s mouth softened, the tongue slowed, and Harvey closed his eyes, luxuriating in the sensations and the knowledge that he could draw this out for hours if he so chose. He’d paid well for that privilege. His thoughts drifted, touching on work, on a particularly stubborn client, on which expensive sports car he’d like to try next, on the tight-bodied little paralegal the firm had just hired. Eventually his mind went pleasantly blank and quiet, void of all the worries and convoluted chess moves of his life. When he felt himself begin to slip precariously towards orgasm, he opened his eyes, surprised by how dark the room had become. Mike remained dutifully at work, but something in his monotonous little head bobs and repetitive grunts told Harvey that he was growing weary.

Harvey caressed Mike’s head, mentally shoving away the sudden fondness he absolutely should not be feeling for someone he was paying to pleasure him. His hand tightened in Mike’s hair, just this side of cruel, and he tugged, signaling him to stop. “That’s good,” he told Mike when the boy was staring up at him, lips and chin slick with drool. “That’s very good, Mike, so good that I’m going to reward you now by giving you a choice. You can either finish me off in your mouth, and I’d want you gagging and swallowing me as far down your throat as you can manage. Or you can climb up into my lap and ride me. Don’t over think it. There will be plenty more opportunities before I send you home tomorrow.”

By way of reply, Mike reached for his glass of water and took a long gulp. He smiled shyly, and if he was still acting, Harvey would have liked to nominate him for an Oscar. “I like the way you taste,” Mike admitted. “So....”

“Okay, then. Step up your game.”

And Mike did just that. He gave the head of Harvey’s cock another wet swipe of his tongue, and then swallowed him down, throat muscles constricting and massaging. One hand clung to Harvey’s thigh while the other moved to his balls, stroking and rolling them with exactly the right amount of pressure. One long finger crept back and rubbed Harvey’s entrance. Harvey squirmed, loving every touch, wishing he’d taken a moment to remove his pants. Mike slurped back up his length, then held Harvey’s tip in his mouth and whipped his tongue around and around just underneath the head. Harvey felt Mike draw a deep breath and then the boy went down on him completely. He bobbed up and down, the tip of Harvey’s cock nudging the back of his throat. Harvey clenched his teeth and groaned. “God. Yes. That’s good.” He cupped the back of Mike’s head, fingers digging into his scalp.

He let the boy go at it for a while, a softly grunting blur in the darkening room. Harvey was getting close, riding the thin edge of his desire. Suddenly wanting to see more clearly, Harvey pulled on Mike’s hair. “All right. Stop a second.”

Harvey leaned to the side and switched on a lamp, which cast a circle of golden light over the scene. He saw now the sweat that sheened Mike’s skin, the way his hair stood up in crazy tufts where Harvey had played with it. He captured Mike’s gaze with own, stood slowly on ridiculously shaky legs, and rested one hand on Mike’s head.

“Stay still and brace yourself. I’m going to fuck your face, and I’m not going to hold back.” Harvey grasped Mike’s head in both hands, fingers digging into the back of his skull for support. “You ready?”

Mike nodded yes, as much as he could while anchored and trapped by Harvey’s hands. His eyes were wide and watering, his lips glistening obscenely. Harvey thrust into Mike’s waiting mouth. The sight of the boy kneeling in front of him, mouth open and accepting, was so arousing that Harvey may have become a little too enthusiastic. His spread fingers dug into Mike’s head and he fucked in and out in rough, choppy strokes, accelerating, settling into a rapid rhythm, loving the way Mike just took it, made himself Harvey’s _thing_ , a warm, wet hole, gaze never leaving Harvey’s face, tears staining his cheeks, his pretty cock hard again, flushed and leaking.

“Yeah,” Harvey breathed, so close now. “That’s my good boy. Jack yourself off.” Mike didn’t move, seeming dazed. “Do it!” Harvey barked. “Come before I do or not at all.”

Sluggishly at first, Mike’s hand moved to his dick and he started to stroke himself.

“Faster,” Harvey ordered through gritted teeth, keeping up the steady pound into Mike’s throat. “Come on. Work yourself, baby. Wanna see you come.”

With a whimper, Mike obeyed, his fist jerking up and down his cock. He squeezed his eyes shut, and when Harvey felt him begin to tense, he slammed one hand down on his shoulder, held the back of his head with the other, shoved his dick down the boy’s throat and held it, watching him spasm beneath him, coming with a strangled moan that compressed his throat around Harvey so exquisitely, so perfectly that Harvey exploded with a wordless cry and erupted down Mike’s throat. He felt Mike swallow and swallow like the good boy he was, and Harvey couldn’t help it, he kept his cock jammed down Mike’s throat longer than he should have, until Mike was gagging and struggling to breathe.

Finally, Harvey pulled out, and Mike sucked in a wheezing breath, and then another, and then just knelt there, eyes shut, panting, tears and sweat trailing down his pink cheeks.

Harvey took the opportunity to tuck himself back in, zip up, and straighten his clothing, never taking his eyes off of the delicious sight in front of him. The boy was wrung out, nearing collapse. While Harvey watched, he took a hitching breath which could have been a hiccup or could have been a sob, and started to wobble. Harvey sat on the couch and steadied Mike with a hand on each shoulder.

“Shh. Take it easy. Sit back on your heels.” Harvey picked up the nearly empty glass of water and held it to Mike’s mouth. “Drink.” Mike did, eyes open but not meeting Harvey’s gaze. He pulled away from the empty glass and coughed lightly. “Your throat’s pretty sore, huh?”

Mike made no reply, just crossed his arms over his chest and shivered, staring at the floor.

Yes, definitely time for a break.

“I’ve laid out some clothes for you in the bedroom at the end of the hall. Let’s have something to eat and regroup, all right?”

He helped Mike to his feet and held him there for a moment. “You good?”

Mike nodded.

“Talk to me, kid.”

Finally Mike raised his eyes. Harvey couldn’t quite read the expression -- vulnerability still, and something else. _Fear and...shame?_

“I’m good, Harvey,” Mike rasped out somberly, pulled away and walked down the hall.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Mike studied himself in the mirror.

_Well, hello there, you dirty dirty whore._

He started to laugh, but it came out hoarse, and it _hurt_ , so he stopped. He wanted to turn on the shower, crank up the water as hard as it would go, crawl underneath and scald the slut off, if that was even possible. He wasn’t sure if Harvey would approve, though, and he was on Harvey’s clock, so he grabbed a washcloth instead and hurriedly scrubbed himself as clean as he could.

And then he froze, remembering. There had been a moment back there, with Harvey coming deep down his throat, where Mike couldn’t breathe and he’d panicked. Up until then, he hadn’t felt any fear. Nerves, yes, and embarrassment. But he’d gone along with everything Harvey asked, had trusted him not to cross the line. Kneeling for so long, gently sucking Harvey while the room slowly darkened -- that had been nice, even though his knees and jaw had begun to ache. He could have happily stayed there forever, had his body been up to it. Later, though...the rough assault on his throat, the frightening choking sensation...his vision had actually begun to grey, and instead of fighting, struggling to free himself, he’d let it happen, and....and the look in Harvey’s eyes had been dark, intense, unreadable.

For just the tiniest fraction of a second, it had seemed that he might die on his knees staring up into those eyes.

He shook himself. He was fine, just needed to pull himself together, find the clothes Harvey had ready for him, and get back out there before he earned himself some more “punishment.” And how hilarious was Harvey’s idea of punishment?

Trying not to think about how many hours remained before Harvey released him and paid him his money, he went down the hall and into the room Harvey had indicated. It turned out to be a tidy, well-decorated bedroom which he could have found in any nice hotel in Manhattan. He barely saw the bland furnishings, his gaze drawn to the bed. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open with a sound that was part laugh and part groan. He ignored the pain which awakened in his throat as he continued laughing a little too long, maybe a little hysterically.

“Holy shit, Harvey. You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

_This,_ thought Mike, smoothing the clingy material over his narrow hips, _is what I get for anticipating my client’s desires._

It wasn’t a plaid skirt and knee socks. He might have preferred that. Instead, Harvey had laid out for him a shiny, spandex, cobalt blue mini-dress, matching two-inch high fuck-me heels, flimsy pink lace panties, and a black satin choker bedazzled with paste rhinestones placed in a way which gave it a definite dog collar vibe.

“Someone’s been shopping at Whores ‘R Us,” he muttered, struggling to reach the zipper. After a minute or so more of contorting and cursing, he got the zipper closed, and studied himself in the mirror mounted on the back of the door. He understand now Harvey’s instructions to shave...everywhere. The heels made his his legs look longer. That was sexy...sort of. Walking in them wasn’t a problem. He’d worn higher heels for Trevor more than once.

The hem of the dress hit him high on his thighs. He ran a hand under the skirt, testing the tight, subtly abrasive lace of the panties, and decided that he enjoyed the feel of them beneath his palm, and the feel of his dick underneath the panties. He’d come twice already that night, but the way he looked...the way he felt...he was becoming aroused again already and starting to think this newest role could be...not so bad.

As he studied his reflection, he almost wished Harvey had supplied cosmetics with the clothes. He’d messed around a little with Jenny’s makeup a few times, and knew what some blush, eyeliner, mascara and lipstick could do to transform his appearance. Trevor had seemed to like it. Looking as he did now, with his decidedly masculine features juxtaposed with the outfit...this must be what Harvey wanted, but Mike felt foolish.

Maybe that was Harvey’s goal: to humiliate Mike a little.

_A little more, that is._

Mike bit his lip, suddenly uncertain if he should continue, or if he should tap out now. How far did Harvey intend to push him? Was the money worth... _this?_ He continued to examine himself in the mirror, beginning to suspect that, despite Harvey’s dismissive scorn at that first meeting, Mike _should_ have continued to negotiate terms. More than that, he should have spent at least a few minutes reviewing his own limits before he showed up on Harvey’s doorstep. Right now, his thoughts were too muddled, too churned up by the two screaming orgasms he’d already experienced to see things clearly.

All he could do was to trust that Harvey wouldn’t push too far.

_Trust Harvey_.

Mike watched the wide-eyed vision of sluttery in blue shake its head at him in the mirror.

_This is so fucked up._ _I...I think I made a mistake._ It wasn’t the dress that disturbed him. Shit, he _liked_ the ugly dress. It was his eagerness to follow Harvey’s orders, and the way that it felt like he was selling his soul to the man, piece by willing piece.

But he still needed that money. He’d already dived head first into the deep end of the whore pool. And it hadn’t been that bad, had it?

_Yeah, keep telling yourself that_.

He tugged the skirt down, smoothing it over his hips once more, adjusted the choker, and walked -- no, strutted -- out the door to face Harvey again.

 

******

 

Harvey turned on a few more lights while Mike was getting changed. With a fresh ale in his hand, he wondered idly if Mike would balk at the outfit. Drag wasn’t a kink Harvey had indulged before, but he had also never bought anyone for twenty-four hour increments before, so he thought he could be excused for trying a couple of things about which he’d been curious.

When Mike made his reappearance, Harvey noticed right away how naturally he walked in the heels, and he regretted not choosing a three or four inch height instead of the modest two inches. He realized how cheap the dress looked, which had sort of been the point, but he briefly wondered if maybe he should have shopped for something with more class. The way Mike moved down the hall, though...the way he _slinked_ down the hall...had Harvey dismissing that idea. Cheap and slutty looked fantastic on Mike. Harvey could easily picture him with a messy smear of garish lipstick and heavy mascara half sweated or cried off.

Mike cat-walked all the way to the living room and halted a foot from Harvey, one hip canted to the side. “Ta da,” said the boy, a little sarcastically.

Harvey stared at him. Mike chewed on his lower lip, and that charming flush once again traveled up his chest to his cheeks.

“Uh,” said Harvey. “You look...nice.”

“Thanks?”

Harvey stood up and advanced on Mike. He doubted either of them were ready for another round, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of touching the boy. He ran a hand down his back, over his ass, and under the skirt, hands encountering the little scrap of panties he’d picked out yesterday. His hands kneaded and stroked the delicate lace stretched over hard, muscular buttocks. Fuck, the kid looked and felt good.

Hands cupping Mike’s ass, he pulled Mike’s groin against his own. The clingy material of the dress kept it rucked up past Mike’s thighs. The heels brought Mike’s eyes a little above Harvey’s. They regarded one another while Harvey’s hand went to the front of Mike’s panties and traced his hardening cock. He palmed it through pink lace and pressed lightly, rubbing up and down They were both breathing fast and harsh.

Mike’s stomach rumbled suddenly, breaking the tension.

Harvey withdrew his hand regretfully and straightened Mike’s skirt. “Let’s have something to eat,” he said.

 

It had been Harvey’s original intention to have Mike serve him dinner, to watch him totter about on his heels, and observe what he’d anticipated would be his highly amusing reactions, but something in the kid’s expression -- something skittish and subtly mutinous -- made him shift gears. As he’d observed earlier, Mike needed a break, so he seated Mike at the dining table, set out the containers of takeout he’d kept warming in the oven, and they enjoyed a meal of tamarind chicken and fragrant jasmine rice, accompanied with a good bottle of Viognier. Mike wielded his knife and fork with a precise, delicate elegance that left Harvey distracted and a little charmed.

Which was ridiculous. Obviously this was simply the kid adjusting to the new role.

Harvey poured Mike some more wine. “Be honest with me,” he said. “You’ve really never done this sort of thing before?”

Mike swallowed, took a sip of wine and raised an eyebrow. “Which sort of thing? Whoring? Role-play?”

“Both. Either.”

“Does taking money to impersonate someone and take the LSATs for them count?”

Harvey gave a short laugh. “Are there any laws you _do_ obey?”

Mike did something twitchy with his eyelids which it took a moment for Harvey to realize was supposed to be a coquettish flutter. “Tonight I obey the law of Harvey,” he dead-panned.

It should have looked ridiculous, sounded ridiculous, but something in Harvey’s gut reacted viscerally to the words. He took a large gulp of wine, finishing off his glass, and pushed his plate away. Mike mirrored his actions, and they sat staring at one another. Harvey let the moment stretch, let the wine work its way through his insides. The air seemed to grow heavier, warmer. He touched Mike’s forearm, stroked it idly, and felt Mike shiver.

“Wanna make out?” he asked, voice low.

He felt Mike’s sudden tension in the muscles of his arm, saw the quick surprise that flashed onto his face and was gone almost as soon as it appeared. Then his body relaxed, seeming to become loose and supple. He licked his lips and gave a slow blink. “Yeah,” he said, voice light and breathy, and then just sat there, waiting for Harvey to make the next move.

Harvey stood up and held out his hand. “Come on, gorgeous.”

Mike took his hand and Harvey led him back to the sofa. He stretched out full length and pulled Mike down on top of him. The boy toed off his high heels and then his long legs tangled with Harvey’s. His arms folded up on Harvey’s chest, his head found a spot underneath Harvey’s chin, and then he shifted his hips against Harvey’s and sighed. “This is nice,” Mike said, still in that light voice. He worked one arm free and started to trace circles on Harvey’s collarbone. “So...what do you want, baby?”

Harvey tugged the zipper on Mike’s dress slowly downwards, dragging the fingertips of his other hand after it, exploring bare skin. “You,” he answered without thinking, and then added, “out of this dress.” He grasped the hem and pulled it up, affording himself a beautiful view of Mike’s firm bottom covered in pink lace. Once again, he simply had to touch, and leaving the dress bunched around Mike’s waist, he spent long minutes fondling his ass, adjusting the panties so they wedged into his cleft, pulling them back out and smoothing them again, inching them downwards and plunging his hand inside them so he could rub a finger over Mike’s hole. On top of him, Mike sighed and squirmed, and Harvey felt the warm slide of Mike’s tongue over his collarbone, and the press of Mike’s erection next to his own.

“Lift up a little,” Harvey instructed, and when Mike did, he skimmed the dress up over his head and off, dropping it behind the sofa. “Now straddle me. I just want to look at you.”

Mike rose easily and sat back on his haunches, knees bracketing Harvey’s legs. He kept his gaze down, as if unable to meet Harvey’s eyes. His erection strained against the pink lace, tenting it and leaving a damp spot. Harvey hooked a finger in the waistband and pulled it down, freeing the head of Mike’s cock. Mike gasped and arched his back slightly, resting his palms on Harvey’s chest, eyes drifting shut, and rubbed himself sensuously against Harvey, head tipped back. He swallowed, drawing Harvey’s attention to the satin collar around his neck. Harvey reached up to touch the collar, tracing it with the pads of his fingers.

Mike continued to grind against him, back arched, breathy porn star moans leaving his throat in rhythmic bursts of air. It was almost overdone, a little self-conscious, but Harvey couldn’t tear his gaze away. “Holy fuck, Mike,” he breathed, “that is really... _hot._ ” He stroked Mike’s thighs, grabbed his hips and helped him move. After a while he said, “Shit. Stop for a minute. I need to get out of these clothes. Just...stay there. Exactly like that.”

He scooted up and away, pulling his legs and feet out from between Mike’s knees. He pulled his shirt off and as soon as it cleared his head, he looked back down at Mike drinking in the sight of him. He was posed there on his knees, one arm folded across his lean stomach, and the other elbow up over his head, hand behind his head while his hips continued to jerk in small circles, eyes shut.

Harvey’s mouth went dry, and his hands fought with the button and zipper of his jeans, wrestling them off and kicking them away. He stood there in his boxer briefs and watched Mike’s little show, marveling that something so awkward and tawdry had him so turned on. “Mike,” he began, but heard too much emotion in his voice, revealing things he didn’t want to feel, much less broadcast to this little... _hooker_.

What the hell was going on? Why was the kid getting to him like this? Determined to throttle those feelings before they had a chance to derail his fun, he took a few slow breaths before he spoke again. “Pull those panties down and play with yourself.” That was better. He sounded completely detached.

Mike looked up at him, eyes nearly black, and bit his lip, pulling the pink lace down. It stretched between his thighs while he stroked himself.

“Roll your nipple between your fingers.”

One hand came up, pinching his nipple hard, rolling it as Harvey had told him to do. Harvey sat next to him, caressing his thigh, and then knocked his hand away. “Stop. Lie back.” He helped Mike unfold his legs and lie flat on the sofa. Harvey sat next to him, their hips bumping together, and leaned over Mike. He pulled the panties down Mike’s long, smooth legs and all the way off, thought for a moment and then ordered, “Roll toward the back of the sofa. Both hands behind your back, wrists together.”

When Mike had struggled into position, Harvey wrapped the pink lace panties around and around his wrists, tight enough to restrain him, and then helped Mike onto his back again. Mike shifted, trying to get comfortable. He looked nervous, eyes wide, breaths quick and shallow. His erection hadn’t lessened, cock curving against his lower belly, flushed and leaking.

“Are you afraid?” Harvey asked, curious. He ran a hand over Mike’s chest, grazed his nipples with his well-manicured nails.

Mike’s pink tongue darted out, gave his lips a quick little lick. “I don’t know. You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”

“Do you want me to hurt you, Mike?” He compressed one nipple between thumb and forefinger, squeezed, hard and fast. Mike flinched and arched up. Harvey let go and rubbed over the nub gently. He chuckled and gave Mike’s other nipple the same treatment. “Pain? That’s not my thing. Is it your thing?” He grabbed both nipples now, twisting and pulling at them, but without any real force. “Were you hoping for a good hard spanking tonight? Maybe something more intense?”

Mike blushed. His gaze grew guarded. “I wasn’t hoping for anything. I’m here for you, to make you feel good.”

Harvey explored the planes of Mike’s chest, his ribcage, the sculptural ridges of his collarbone and taut neck tendons. He slipped a finger underneath the fabric collar, feeling Mike’s racing pulse. “Are you? I thought your were here strictly for the money.”

Mike swallowed and Harvey felt the collar tighten for a fraction of a second. “One thing leads to the other, so.....”

“Hmm.” Harvey leaned down and pressed his lips to Mike’s neck, just underneath his ear. “Just idle curiosity here,” he whispered, “but is it how you’d expected?” He nipped Mike’s earlobe, delicately tongued the shell of his ear.

“Is -- ahhh -- is what how I expected?” Mike moved restlessly, bending one knee and tilting his head to the side, perhaps to escape Harvey’s mouth, perhaps to give him better access.

Harvey grasped Mike’s jaw, angled his own head and lowered his mouth for a kiss. It wasn’t gentle or soft or quick. His tongue muscled past Mike’s, teeth nipped and gnawed, claiming and possessing. His free hand went to the back of Mike’s head so that he was trapped, jaw and skull, and Harvey took what he wanted, continued taking until he couldn’t breathe, and then let go abruptly and sat back. “Being a whore,” he said conversationally if a little breathlessly. “Does if feel the way you thought it would?”

The quick look of hurt on Mike’s face was expected, but it still pricked Harvey’s conscience. Mike covered it almost immediately, though, with a tight smile and blank eyes. “Sure, baby. Feels so good.” He squirmed, maneuvered his bent leg so that he could rub across Harvey’s crotch with the heel of his foot. “How should I get you off this time? With my foot? With my mouth again? My ass is nice and loose for you. Do you want to come on my face? In my hair? Just say the word, baby. Tell me what you want.”

Harvey gripped Mike’s foot and carefully removed it from his crotch. “Hey. What’s with the pissy attitude? You knew exactly what this was going into it. If you’re unhappy with me or my behavior, you can walk any time you want. Just say the word.”

Mike glared at him chest heaving, then seemed to deflate. Harvey noted that his cock had also deflated noticeably, which was a shame.

“I’m sorry, Harvey. You haven’t done anything wrong.” He stared up at the ceiling, seeming to struggle with what he wanted to say. “This is all such a mind fuck, you know? I keep forgetting -- .” He shook his head briskly, took a shaky breath. “I want to stay. I need that money, god damn it. But maybe you should have hired an actual professional.” He shrugged, looking lost and helpless.

_And so fucking adorable. And still hot as fuck, stretched out there like that, wrists restrained behind him. Fuck._

Mike might not be a professional -- at least, not technically, not until he had Harvey’s cashier’s check in his wallet -- but Harvey couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself so much, come so hard, craved the feel of another person’s skin like he did Mike’s.

It seemed clear now that he’d pushed Mike too hard with his questions, maybe been a little cruel. He hadn’t hired the kid so he could conduct a searching interview, after all. And now all of the erotic tension that had been building between them had evaporated. He wanted it back. He wanted to explore every inch of Mike’s toned, flexible body, and then fuck him over and over, until they were both limp and raw and comatose.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “Stay, and there won’t be any more games tonight. I’ll untie you, you can come to bed with me and we can relax and regroup.” He watched Mike consider it. “You know, you really are shockingly good at this. You think too much, though. Try to get out of your head. Do you remember what I said when you first got here?”

A spark of amusement lit Mike’s eyes, which had to be a good thing. ”Take your pants off?”

“No. Try again.”

“Uh. Just go with it?”

“Think you can do that? Can you turn off that brain of yours until your time’s up tomorrow? Because that’s all you need to do to be successful at this.”

He was relieved to see the tension leave Mike’s body, even more relieved when Mike nodded and said, “I’ll stay.”

“Good call, kid.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading my dumb little porn tale. I've enjoyed your comments, and the kudos are like yummy little zaps of goodness. Now my plot-happy brain has decided to spin this out a little into a full-fledged story -- oh my god WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???

Sometime in the middle of the night, Mike woke up shivering. They’d both crawled into bed nude, although Harvey had requested that he keep the choker on. By then, Mike had been too tired to care, much less argue or stage another existential freak out, or whatever that had been. He kept a generous amount of space between them, and Harvey hadn’t said anything, just turned on his side, away from Mike, and fell asleep.

Mike fretted for a while, tossed and turned, just like he always did in a strange place, and this place felt stranger than most. He was worn out, and eventually he slid into a light doze. Harvey had the heat turned down, though, and Mike preferred a bed that was toasty warm. The chill air woke him up, and he tried to rearrange the lightweight bedspread over himself in order to trap more precious heat next to his body.

He must have made too much noise, or jostled the bed too much, because he heard Harvey give a sleepy grumble. “Stop fidgeting and get over here.”

Mike didn’t need to be told twice. He scooted over like a slightly spastic heat seeking missile, bumping up alongside Harvey and then rolling onto his side, judging that a manly spoon was less pathetic than a full on cuddle. Harvey’s arm clamped over his waist, their bodies synced up and fit together, and that was that. Mike was asleep again in minutes, soothed by Harvey’s regular puffs of breath against the side of his neck, and the furnace-like heat his body provided.

 

Mike wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep this time, but he awoke to find himself flat on his back, pinned in place. Harvey moved above him, stroking, and nipping and licking all over his neck and chest, lazy and thorough. Mike must have said something or made a sound as he came awake, because Harvey lay a finger over his lips and shushed him. When he removed his finger, his mouth took its place, just a quick, soft brush on its way to a spot behind his ear, and then his shoulder.

When Harvey’s mouth reached Mike’s nipple, he sighed and relaxed back into the pillows, digging his fingers into Harvey hair. Teeth bit lightly at him, tongue soothed, a quick breath made him shiver, and then it was all repeated with his other nipple. He found himself wishing that Harvey would kiss his mouth, a real kiss, soft and slow and wet. He couldn’t complain about what Harvey was doing, though, hands touching everywhere, moving over him as if he were a work of art and Harvey was a blind connoisseur. Sounds began to escape Mike that normally would have had him squirming with embarrassment. Instead, he was just...squirming.

“Harvey,” he whispered and then mewled as teethed nipped his earlobe and a blunt fingertip pushed into him. He tried his best to reciprocate with touches of his own, but could only manage a clumsy massage of Harvey’s shoulder blades. The man loomed over him, shutting out what little light entered the windows from the nighttime city. Wanting to get closer, to feel more skin on his, he hooked a leg behind Harvey’s and rubbed his jutting cock against the top of Harvey’s thigh.

Harvey hummed against his throat, almost a purr, and gathered both their cocks in his hand, stroking them together, perfect friction, dry at first with a hint of pain, and then quicker, looser and wetter as he captured their leaking fluid with his strokes and used it as lubrication. Mike was focused on that hand and its delicious motion, and so cried out, startled and arching up, when another hand delved deeper inside him, two fingers -- or was it three? -- brushing his prostate, massaging ruthlessly. Flooded with sensation, Mike didn’t know which way to move, and rutted, graceless and wild, chasing his orgasm until he flung his head back and groaned, long and loud, and heard Harvey harmonize, lower and more guttural, as they came together coated with one another’s sticky cum.

 

******

 

Harvey collapsed on top of Mike, heart pounding so hard it seemed to shake the bed. The boy sprawled underneath him, face lax, eyes closed. After just a few seconds, he began to snore softly. Harvey pushed up on one elbow and studied the young face below him in the dimness. He’d looked young and innocent enough while awake, but asleep.... _Damn._ He looked almost like a child.

Harvey watched, mildly incredulous, as his own hand reached out like Dr. Strangelove’s mutinous limb, and touched the side of Mike’s face, brushed back a sweaty hank of hair stuck to his forehead, caressed him in a slow, curving stroke from his temple down to the hollow of his throat. His fingertips caught on the satin collar, and all of a sudden it looked all wrong on him, interrupting the elegant flow of his form, so he leaned over and unfastened it, and set it on the nightstand.

That was better. That was how he wanted Mike for the rest of their time together: relaxed and naked and just essential Mike.

He smiled.

_Except for that one other thing planned for the morning, but that was a matter of safety, not aesthetics. Mostly._

He wanted nothing more than to lie there and watch Mike, to touch him and enjoy what he had bought and paid for, but decided instead to give Mike a break from him. He needed to get some work done anyway, and could do that while Mike slept. It was nearly four a.m. and he knew from experience that he wouldn’t get anymore sleep that night. So he cleaned Mike up, dragging the washcloth over his skin with a tenderness he never would have displayed if Mike was awake. The boy didn’t wake up, just rolled on his side and burrowed his head underneath his pillow. Harvey adjusted the bedspread over him, making sure he was tucked in nice and snug. Then he took a quick shower and slipped on a pair of pajama pants and a robe and went to put on a pot of coffee.

 

Four hours later, Harvey was immersed in research which his new associate should have been doing -- should have completed before the weekend. Unfortunately, Kevin had spent his first few days at the firm in a near-constant state of terror and disorientation. He’d worried and fretted over the simple assignments Harvey had thrown his way, bothered several other associates about them, and finally made the gross miscalculation of going to Louis to ask for help. Harvey wanted to cut him loose already, but both Donna and Jessica insisted that he give the guy a chance, maybe supervise him more closely, attempt some actual mentoring. The entire situation had him beyond irritated. His associate was supposed to make his life easier, not cause him more headaches.

Down the hall, he heard the toilet flush, followed by running water. By the time Mike padded out to the living room, yawning and rubbing his face, Harvey had closed his laptop and put away his work. Mike looked sleepy, his hair ruffled up like a chipmunk.

“I smell coffee,” he rasped, and Harvey drew in a sharp breath remembering how Mike had come by his tender throat. On his way to the kitchen and the coffeemaker, Mike gave Harvey an uncertain smile. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked.

Harvey crossed his legs, making himself more comfortable on the sofa. “I don’t know, let me ask the chef.” A small pause, then, “Hey, Mike, what’s for breakfast?”

Mike froze in the act of raising his coffee to his mouth. “I -- oh. Okay. I can do that. What do you want?”

And that brought back the image of Mike last night.

_So...what do you want, baby?_

Apparently Mike was remembering the same thing. A blush had pinkened his cheeks and chest. Unable to resist, Harvey stood up and walked slowly over to Mike, taking in his naked body, noting that the boy’s long slender cock had started to stir. Just because he could, Harvey ran a hand down his arm, around to his ass, fondling him roughly. “Naked is a good look on you, kid.”

“Um.” Mike seemed not to know where to look. He stood there and took it, let Harvey touch wherever he chose.

“But,” continued Harvey, fighting to hide a smile, “I wouldn’t want you to injure anything in the kitchen, so I got a little something for you to wear.”

Mike’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Something that will make me squeal, ‘ _merci beaucoup_ ,’ I’m guessing.”

Harvey shrugged, silently reflecting that was something he wouldn’t mind hearing. He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out the outfit he had selected for breakfast. The rolled eyes and slumping shoulders of his beleaguered little whore were worth the money he’d paid. It wasn’t a full out French maid’s outfit, as Mike had suggested, just a half apron in transparent gauzy black, bordered with a wide, lacy ruffle. Since he really didn’t wish for Mike to scorch anything important, he’d also included a pair of tiny, stretchy black satin shorts. When Mike took them from him in obvious distaste, and then made as if to retreat to another room to change, Harvey stopped him with a hand on his bicep and a chiding shake of his head.

“Nope. Put them on here. And Mike, feel free to make it entertaining for me.”

He couldn’t actually _hear_ Mike grinding his teeth, but the way the boy’s jaw clenched and grew white, he thought it was a pretty good bet that’s what he was doing. And suddenly he wanted to make Mike a little more uncomfortable. It wasn’t a nice inclination, he acknowledged to himself, but it seemed important to keep some emotional distance between them.

“Put the apron on first. Tie a pretty bow, nice and tight. Mm. I like that.” In front, the apron barely came down to the crease between Mike’s upper thigh and groin, the sheer fabric leaving nothing to the imagination. The back, of course, bared Mike completely. Harvey definitely wanted a view of that “Turn in a slow circle. Slower. Stop. Put your feet farther apart. Okay, now reach down and touch your toes.”

One quick mutinous glare over his shoulder, and Mike did as ordered, spread and displayed in front of Harvey as pretty as you please. Harvey let him hold that position for a full minute -- he consulted the second hand on his Rolex to make sure. It was a tempting sight, no doubt about it. He was growing so hard he could have stepped up behind Mike and thrust into him, but he set that urge aside for later. Now, he said, keeping his voice bland and a little bored. “All right. That’s good. Stay bent over and put on the shorts.”

He knew the shorts were tight -- stretchy but very tight -- and it was amusing to watch the boy attempt to shimmy into them while both maintaining his position and trying to put on the show Harvey had requested. He stepped into the shorts and dragged them up his legs, wriggling and wiggling as he went. He grunted with the effort of forcing them past his hips, but finally managed to slide them over his ass, and while said ass had been delectable naked, with the black satin stretched tautly across it, cupping and accentuating every curve....

Harvey heard a low growl and was mildly surprised that the noise had come from his throat. He closed in on Mike and cupped that perfect ass, clasped his hips and pulled Mike against his own groin. “Stand up,” he whispered.

Over Mike’s shoulder he could see down to the front of him. The sheer apron covered the shorts, but they showed clearly beneath it, and Mike’s erection made a valiant bulge within the restricting garment. He slid one hand around to Mike’s crotch and squeezed him through the slick material, and all at once it was too much.

Breakfast could wait.

Harvey fumbled with the drawstring of his pajama bottoms, heard something tear as he yanked them down, freeing his cock. He rubbed himself against Mike’s satin clad bottom, one arm like a vise around his waist, and the other between Mike’s legs, not stroking, just holding him immobile so he he could rut against him, abandoning finesse, abandoning detachment and dispassion and giving in to _need._ He moved, insane with lust, making coarse animal sounds. He shut his eyes and put his open mouth against Mike’s neck, tasting salty sweat, and rammed hard against Mike, burying his primal grunts in Mike’s flesh.

He was so close, and he knew how he wanted to finish, had been picturing it all morning as he researched his boring case The way he’d imagined it had been less frantic and more pre-meditated, so even though it took an effort of will to stop his movements, he let go of Mike and pulled back, squeezing the base of his cock, taking deep gulping breaths to help himself calm down.

“Turn around,” he gasped, grabbing Mike’s shoulder and spinning him so they were face to face. “Drop to your knees. Do it, Mike.”

Mike hesitated for only a moment, then knelt, eyes fixed on Harvey.

“Tilt your head back,” Harvey said through gritted teeth, “close your eyes, and open your mouth.” Mike complied instantly and Harvey didn’t waste any more time. He jacked himself vigorously and half a dozen strokes later he was coming hard, shooting ropes of cum on Mike’s face, in his hair, onto his chest. Harvey made one whining groan as he came and bit back on any other noises, watching Mike raptly.

The boy didn’t disappoint. As the first cum splashed him, he gave a surprised gasp, but arched his back as if opening himself up to it. His mouth gaped wider, tongue darting out to catch any stray drops. He took a heaving breath in and out, took another, and continued to pant hard, as if he, and not Harvey, had been doing all the work. As Harvey’s brain cleared a little, he realized that Mike was trembling, shivering. Had the boy come when Harvey did? He couldn’t tell.

Harvey moved closer, ran two fingers through the mess on Mike’s face, moved them in swirls to sign his name to his work, and touched Mike’s lower lip. Mike’s eyes opened slowly, as if he was surfacing from a great depth. Still trembling, he blinked lazily, seemed to notice the hand hovering in front of him, and held his tongue out, looking up at Harvey as if asking for permission. Something in Harvey’s gut gave a crazy lurch. He nodded tersely, and Mike licked his hand once, tentatively, licked it again, then grabbed his hand with both of his, rubbed it through the cooling cum again, then lapped at it all over like a starving cat.

Harvey just watched him, arrested by the sight. He had never particularly cared for the taste of cum, but Mike was acting as if it were the rarest ambrosia, as if -- shit, this was too much, too intense. Things were getting confused. Harvey placed a hand on Mike’s head and gently extricated his hand, ignoring Mike’s disappointed little mewls. “That’s enough,” he said softly. “Mike. _Enough_. Go get yourself cleaned up. And take off that apron. It looks ridiculous.”

He stepped back, looked away, ignored the way Mike had to struggle to get to his feet, pretended he didn’t see the long pause as Mike hesitated, standing there awkwardly before heading for the bathroom, head down and walking quickly.

 

******

 

Mike stared at himself in the mirror, not sure he even recognized the wrecked person staring back at him. It had nothing to do with the mess in his hair and on his face. His eyes looked wild and lost. Had that really been him out there, coming apart because Harvey had allowed him to lick his hand?

_Fuck...._

He blew out a breath and let his gaze travel up and down his disheveled length. His hair stuck up on one side and was matted down on the other. His face...he skipped over that quickly. The apron looked silly, and normally he would have found it funny, laughed it the absurdity of it, but right now the sight of it filled him with a strange sort of fear. He fumbled with the bow, hands shaky and moist, and finally got it undone and let it float to the ground.

The tight shorts looked obscene on him. They accented his hard cock, outlining the shape of it where it strained against the smooth fabric. Harvey hadn’t forbid him to come, but neither had he invited it. Instead he’d used Mike as his thing once again.

And Mike had loved it.

Harvey had been wild, like an animal. How could that be the same man from a few hours ago? Had Mike dreamed last night in Harvey’s bed? Then, Harvey had treated him with tenderness, had touched him with something bordering on reverence. Mike gulped in a shaky breath. The fucking ground kept shifting underneath him. He hadn’t felt so off balance since Trevor had dragged him behind the bleachers in high school to get high and make out, and then slapped Mike and forced him to suck him off.

He gave a shiver and it turned into a shudder. He had to get the god damn jizz out of his hair, and if Harvey had to wait a little for his breakfast, that was too bad. He struggled out of the shorts, regarded his raging erection in the mirror, and thought about touching it, about getting himself off, but he shook his head at himself, eyes sad and determined. He was still on Harvey’s payroll, and for the next -- oh God, how much longer was it? Ten hours? Eleven hours? -- for another half day, his body was Harvey’s, not his own.

Still, if Harvey didn’t think he was going to take a shower, wash his hair, use all of Harvey’s expensive products to clean himself off, then Harvey was out of his damn mind.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Harvey’s head came up when he heard the sound of the shower down the hall. He thought about joining Mike in there, maybe just barging in and watching him soap himself up. An image of Mike’s body -- hot water running down him, following the contours of his body -- presented itself for his consideration and temptation, and that led to a mental replay of the last ten minutes. What was it about this kid that made him lose control like that? And what was with the tiny stings of guilt he felt, as if he had somehow mistreated the boy?

He sighed, impatient with himself. When had he ever let a guilty conscience interfere with his pleasures? And why feel guilty at all? He was doing the boy a favor. Where else was he going to make such easy money? He shook his head, dismissing his doubts, and headed for the bedroom to get dressed. He’d left his phone on his dresser and as he walked through the door, it lit up and he remembered that he’d turned off the ringer last night. Stupid of him to forget to check it when he got up this morning.

The display indicated that Jessica was calling, and also that he had four missed calls.

“Yeah,” he said shortly.

“We’ve got a problem with Sylvia Hart.”

“No we don’t. I’m meeting with her tomorrow to go over the terms of the merger.”

“She’s nervous. And she’s pissed that she hasn’t been able to reach you this morning.”

Harvey heard the shower shut off. “I’ve been busy. But don’t worry. I’ll call her now to smooth things over.”

Jessica _tsk’d_ into the phone. “She’s way past phone assurances. She wants to see you in person. _Now._ ”

“Jessica, I can’t do that. I have...something of an emergency here. I can’t leave right now.”

“This is what I pay you for, Harvey. She’s at the Empire Club and she expects you within the hour. Figure it out, but be there.”

He started to groan, but cut himself off, knowing that he couldn’t get out of this. He opened his mouth to acquiesce, but before he could speak, Mike appeared at the door, wet, hair tousled, the black shorts dangling from his index finger.

“Did you want me back in these shorts?” he asked, loudly enough that Jessica had to have heard on her end of the line. “It’s clear they turn you on, but they’re so tight. I was starting to chafe -- oh, shit, sorry. I didn’t realize you were on the phone.” He made a comically apologetic face.

After a brief silence, he heard Jessica clear her throat. When she spoke, he could hear both amusement and irritation in her voice. “If that’s your emergency I’m hearing, it’s going to have to wait until after your meeting.”

“Absolutely,” he said smoothly. “I’m on my way.”

She hung up without further comment.

“Mike,” he said, voice cold, “that was -- ” He couldn’t think how to complete the sentence. _That was unprofessional? Awkward? Inconvenient?_ He finally settled for, “That was unacceptable. When I’m on a business call, you keep quiet, understand?”

Mike blinked as if he’d been slapped. “But I didn’t know.”

“It’s your job to know,” he snapped.

“Okay.” Mike’s voice was quiet and hurt. “I heard what you said, though. You’re leaving?”

Harvey stared back at him, considering the prospect of leaving Mike here alone, or of cutting him loose early. He rejected both ideas, coming to a rapid decision. “You’re coming with me. And forget the shorts. We need to hunt up something for you to wear.”

“Where are we going?”

“Only to one of the most exclusive private clubs in Manhattan.”

Mike frowned, radiating uncertainty. “I only have what I wore over here. Unless you want me in that dress again?”

Harvey snorted. “That rag wouldn’t get you on the sidewalk across the street from this place.” He went to his closet and started rummaging through his clothes. “You’ll have to wear something of mine. It’ll be too loose, but if anyone comments on it, just make something up.”

“Like what?”

Harvey considered a pair of khakis, shook his head, and pulled out some light grey wool slacks that had never fit him quite right.

“Like what, Harvey?”

“Shit, I don’t know. Tell them you’ve been ill. That you’re fasting for a movie role. Whatever you want. Tell them the truth. I don’t care.” He grabbed a light blue button-down shirt and dark blue blazer, and then added a conservative striped tie in burgundy and grey and tossed everything on the bed. Mike was glaring at him from the doorway and his temper spiked. The kid had no call to be pissed at him. Harvey was the one losing out on the games he had planned for that afternoon. Annoyed at Mike, at Jessica, at Sylvia Hart, Harvey yanked open a dresser drawer where he had stashed the rest of the garments he had wanted to see Mike in while he played with him. He rejected a garter belt and a flame red thong, and chose a pair of ass cheek baring plain white silk panties trimmed with a two-inch band of white lace at the top. “Put these on, and get dressed.” He waved a hand at the clothes he’d picked out.

Mike took the panties from him, shaking his head. “You have a serious underwear fetish, don’t you?”

Harvey’s back was turned while he returned to his closet to choose an appropriate outfit for himself. “What if I do?” he shot back over his shoulder. “It’s not your job to comment upon or judge my tastes. It’s your job to smile pretty and do what I tell you to do. Right now, consider yourself fortunate that I don’t have you wear the rest of that outfit.”

“Which consists of what, exactly?”

Harvey decided on his charcoal suit, which was more conservative than the Empire Club required, but he needed to look professional and imposing. He turned on Mike and gave him a dark look. “You probably don’t want to know.”

Mike could only hold his gaze for a few seconds before he looked away, blushing. “Understood.”

While Harvey dressed, he kept half an eye on Mike. The panties disappeared much too quickly underneath the rest of the clothes, which as he’d predicted, were baggy and ill-fitting on Mike. That was okay, though. The Empire Club was known not only for it’s old money elite, but for the eccentrics that filled their ranks. Mike should blend in well enough. Then he looked at Mike’s bare feet. He sure as hell wasn’t going to loan Mike any of his shoes, even if they did fit, which was unlikely, and Mike’s sneakers would definitely not pass muster at the club. “Hurry it up,” he ordered. “We need to make one stop on the way.”

 

******

 

After the desk clerk at the Empire Club located Harvey’s name on his list, giving Mike a disinterested glance, he escorted them to a locked elevator which he activated with his key card. Mike and Harvey rode up alone and exited on the fifth floor. The furnishings were about as Mike would have predicted: expensive leather club chairs, aggressively healthy potted plants, plush carpeting, hand painted wallpaper, all in shades of dark burgundy, forest green, beige and black. One side of the room held a long mahogany bar. Perhaps two dozen people lounged around the room, reading, enjoying a drink, talking quietly. Besides himself and Harvey, no one wore a suit and tie. Most were dressed in a casually elegant manner, classic, not trendy. The new dress shoes Harvey had purchased for him on the way pinched his feet a little and he felt like he was drowning in the clothes, but he didn’t suppose his discomfort mattered any. When would he ever run into anyone here again?

He was just a paid employee, tagging along because Harvey had insisted.

They paused at the edge of the room while Harvey searched for his client. He raised a hand in greeting and began his arrogant strut through a room filled with some of the most wealthy and influential people in Manhattan.

Sylvia Hart was a tall, homely woman with expertly styled silver hair and flawless makeup. She sat at a low marble-topped table with a younger man who stood up when Harvey and Mike joined them. When introductions were made, Harvey referred to Mike simply as, “my friend.” The thirty-something man, it turned out, was Sylvia’s step-son, Lawrence, who had just completed a game of squash followed by a session in the steam room. He wore perfectly pressed khakis, a yellow polo shirt, and a smarmy smile, especially when his gaze rested on Mike.

“I’ve arranged brunch in a private room,” announced Sylvia. “I insist you join us, Mike.”

He slanted a look at Harvey, who gave him no guidance, so he nodded and murmured a soft _thank you._

“But first, I need to steal Harvey away for a few minutes to talk business. Lawrence, can I trust you to keep Mr. Ross entertained?”

“My pleasure,” Lawrence assured her.

Sylvia touched Harvey’s elbow and they moved away, across the room and onto an outdoor patio where Mike could see her light a cigarette and turn on Harvey, gesticulating with what looked like tightly controlled anger.

He felt a hand on his arm and looked up at Lawrence who was watching him closely.

“What do you want to drink, Mike?”

“Just water -- no, you know what? I’ll have a vodka and orange juice.” It was early yet, not even noon, but he figured he’d earned himself a drink. He eased himself down onto the bar stool and leaned his elbows on the bar top. Next to him, Lawrence mirrored his position.

“So how did you meet Harvey?” Lawrence asked, taking a sip of what looked like scotch.

“We -- wow, would you believe me if I told you it was complicated?”

The other man shrugged, an elegant dismissive gesture. Mike’s drink arrived and he took a taste, eying his companion up and down. He was tall, taller than Mike by a couple of inches, and although he appeared to be in fairly good shape, he was a little thick around the middle, and his finely boned face had a bloated, dissipated look to it. He looked exactly like what he probably was: a rich, spoiled dilettante.

“First time at the club?” he asked Mike.

“Obviously,” Mike said. He felt warm, partly from unease, and partly because they kept the place so well-heated. He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt.

“It’s the steam room,” Lawrence said.

“Excuse me?”

“The heat. It’s an old building you know. Built over a hundred years ago. They’ve tried all sorts of renovations to regulate the temperature in here, but the heat from the steam room just seems to accumulate and....” He waved one hand vaguely in front of himself. ”...and waft around unchecked.”

“Oh,” said Mike politely.

“You in law?”

“Am I what? Oh. No. I’m not a lawyer. Definitely not.” He gulped his drink and fanned his face with one hand.

“Take off your coat,” Lawrence advised. “Here, let me give you a hand.” He reached a hand to either side of Mike and dragged the suit coat down his arms until Mike had to spin around so his back was to Lawrence, who stripped the suit the rest of the way off. When he tried to turn back, Lawrence put a hand on his back, halting him.

“Well,” the other man said. “I like this.”

“What?” He craned to see behind him, and then felt a small flick at the bottom of his spine, followed by a finger tracing a line there. “Hey.” He stood up and took a step back. “What the hell?”

“The lace.” Lawrence smiled at him, leaned in a little. “You’re wearing panties underneath that dreadful suit, aren’t you? So naughty.” He bit his lower lip, eyes avid and shining. “I’d pay good money to see the rest of them.”

In the act of taking a quick drink, Mike choked a little, mortified. He took a deeper drink, and suddenly the whole situation just seemed funny. He leaned towards Lawrence, whispering conspiratorially. “You’d have to. Pay, I mean. How do you think Harvey got me into them?”

Pale green eyes widened, taking him in, head to shoes and back again. “I see.” He glanced toward the patio where Harvey and Sylvia were still deep in conversation and dropped his voice to a whisper. “How much?”

Mike froze. He hadn’t been expecting that. His first instinct was to laugh it off, turn him down, tell him it was just a one time thing, that it was only for Harvey. Before he spoke, he thought about it. Harvey had made it abundantly clear that their time together was based strictly on a business transaction. He’d also praised Mike on how adept he was at this, called him a natural. And here was this guy, wealthy in a way that made Harvey look like a peasant, and he had friends and connections who also had money to burn. More importantly, Mike felt absolutely nothing when he looked at Lawrence, or when Lawrence had touched his arm or the small of his back. If he could remain detached and professional, things wouldn’t get confusing like they had with Harvey.

And he knew enough now to negotiate a better deal, and limit their time together. Twenty-four hours now seemed like an eternity. Anything could happen in that time.

So he gave Lawrence a slow smile and said, “One thousand dollars an hour.”

The other man smiled back at him, eyes gone narrow and thoughtful. “Hm. And what does one get for that price?”

“Whatever you want. Except no serious injury.” He thought quickly. “And, uh, no business involving bodily waste. That’s out.”

Lawrence’s gaze dropped to his crotch and stayed there. “But you like playing dress up, do you? What about role play?”

“It’s my specialty,” he answered with confidence.

“Are you free tomorrow? I’d like to book you for three hours during the afternoon.”

“Uh.” Mike glanced at the patio and saw that Harvey and Sylvia were finished talking and were on their way back to the bar. “Okay. Yeah. Yes, absolutely. Where and when?”

Lawrence scribbled an address on the back of a card embossed on the front with only his name, and handed it to Mike. “Two o’clock.”

Mike looked at the address, thrust the card into his pants pocket and glanced nervously toward Harvey, who walked up just then to stand next to him. His dark eyes took in the scene. Mike didn’t know if he had seen anything, or if it even mattered. He glanced up at Harvey, then reached for his drink and took a nervous gulp.

“Let’s go,” said Harvey, ignoring Lawrence. Sylvia had not followed him, having evidently disappeared elsewhere within the club.

Lawrence rose to his feet. “You’re not staying for brunch?” he asked.

Harvey gave him a dismissive glance. “Regretfully, no. Mike and I have other plans.”

“Did you work things out with Mother?”

“Of course. She’s waiting for you in the Rose room, by the way. I suggest you go find her.” He grabbed Mike’s elbow. “You and I have our own business to attend to.”

Mike barely had time to grab the blazer off the bar top, and then he was being marched back to the elevator. He took a quick look back at Lawrence and saw him still standing at the bar, watching them go, face expressionless. Mike gave him an apologetic smile. The elevator doors slid open.

The ride down to the first floor was made in silence. Harvey’s tension couldn’t have been any more obvious. He was fairly overflowing with it, but he waited until they were in the back of a cab before he turned on Mike, hissing angrily, “What the hell was that back there?”

Mike hunched into the corner of the back seat. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You told him, didn’t you?” He sounded quietly furious.

Mike turned on him, growing angry himself. “You said I could tell the truth.”

“Not to my client’s son. And I certainly didn’t expect you to be conducting business while you’re on my time.”

“What do you care?”

Harvey turned to look out the window. Mike didn’t think he was going to answer, but he finally said, still glaring out at the city streets and the sparse crowds of people on the sidewalks, “You’re mine, Mike. Until seven fifty-three tonight, I own you.” He turned slowly to pin Mike with that dark, devil’s glare. “Body and -- make no mistake about it -- soul. So you don’t go drumming up business, you don’t fucking _whore yourself out_ while you’re taking my money. Do you understand me?”

Mike’s anger settled into a slow burn, and resentment joined it, lodging in his chest. Harvey had no right. Mike had done everything he’d asked. _Everything_. He hadn’t invited Lawrence’s interest. If he wanted to get technical, that had been Harvey’s fault, him and his stupid panty fetish. He was just a commodity to Harvey. He’d bought him, that was true, but just his body. Not his soul.

_Or his heart. Never that._

All of that flashed through his mind, but what he said in reply was, “I understand you completely.”

“Good. Now we’ve missed breakfast and brunch. I don’t know about you, but I could use something to eat.”

“Why didn’t we just stay, then?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

Mike bit back a response and subsided into sullen silence. He assumed they would head back to Harvey’s condo now, where he’d have to dress up in another humiliating outfit and fix them something to eat. So he was surprised when the cab stopped in front of _Morgan’s City Grill_ and they got out.

 

******

 

Mike ordered a burger and fries, and Harvey opted for the salmon with broccoli slaw. He nixed Mike’s request for a drink, and got iced tea for both of them.

They ate in tense silence. Harvey regretted the sharp words he’s thrown at Mike in the cab, but something raw and possessive had erupted inside him when he’d seen that toad Lawrence Hart touch Mike, and then give him his card. His anger felt completely justified, but he should have controlled it better. Now, watching Mike chew his burger, looking like a sulky child, he wanted to punish him, to truly punish him for his behavior. First, though, he needed to calm down. He needed to be under control before he proceeded with his plan.

So he waited, enjoyed his meal, and studied the restaurant, noting the mostly empty tables. When Mike had nearly finished, Harvey set down his knife and fork and glanced at his watch. Keeping his tone level, he said, “Mike. It’s now a little after one o’clock. We still have nearly seven hours left together. We’ve had a little bump in the road here, but let’s not let it ruin our remaining time. So here’s what we’re going to do. First, you’re going to get up and go into the bathroom. Take off the jacket and the shirt and tie. Unfasten your pants and let them drop to your ankles. Then place your hands and elbows on the counter and lean over. Your back should be parallel to the floor. Hold that position. I’ll join you after a bit. If anyone besides me comes in, you are not to move or cover yourself.”

He watched Mike’s face, watched it go from sullen to confused to incredulous. He stared back at Harvey, mouth slightly open.

“Harvey -- ”

“Do you understand my instructions?”

“Yes, but -- ”

“This is not an argument, a discussion, or a negotiation. This is me giving you an order. Are you going to follow it, or are you going give up with only seven hours to go?”

Mike looked around the restaurant and Harvey knew he was calculating the odds of someone walking in to find him in that vulnerable position. “Just for the record,” he said through clenched teeth, “you’re a bastard.” He threw his napkin onto the tabletop and headed for the hallway that led to the men’s room.

Harvey check his watch once more and decided to let Mike wait in there for ten minutes. Three minutes in, one of the other diners, a middle-aged heavyset man, made his way down the same hallway. Ten seconds later, he was back, cursing under his breath. Harvey hid his smile, and he also kept a careful eye on the man to make sure he didn’t say anything to his waiter. He didn’t, just tossed a wad of bills on his table and hustled his wife or girlfriend out of there. With five minutes to go, Harvey signaled their waiter and paid the bill. Finally, with a nonchalance he wasn’t feeling, he stood and walked toward the men’s room.

Taking care to be a quiet as possible, he eased the door open. And there was his boy, his very good boy, holding his position just as Harvey had instructed. He stepped inside, locking the door behind him, and savored the sight. Mike’s shirt and jacket were folded neatly on the counter beside him, and his pants were pooled at his feet. He was bent over at nearly a perfect ninety degree angle, feet spread wide, with his cute little ass thrust into the air, beautifully displayed in the white silk and lace panties. Fine tremors shook his arms and back and his head rested on his arms, eyes shut.

“Harvey?” he whispered. “Oh, god, that had better be you.”

Harvey didn’t even remember moving, but found himself standing right behind Mike, not touching, but close enough to feel his heat. He leaned over and put his lips to Mike’s ear. “Pretend I’m a stranger. Pretend you’re waiting for the first man to come in and find you like this, that you’ll allow him to do whatever he wants with you, because you know you’ve been bad, and now you need correction.”

Mike’s trembling back moved up and down as he sucked in an unsteady breath. And just as easily as that, he was in character. “You don’t have to tell me your name. You...you can hurt me if you want, sir. _Oh, god._ I fucked up. I broke the rules.” He panted noisily for a few seconds, then he continued, voice higher pitched and plaintive. “I promise not to turn around or open my eyes. I’ll never know who you are. All I want...I’m begging you...use me. However you want. You can sp-spank me. Or fuck me.” He reached one hand back and pulled down the panties, baring his ass, and then waited.

Unable to resist for a second longer, Harvey reached out and caressed Mike’s ass, one hand on each cheek, stroking and soothing, until Mike’s breathing slowed and evened out, and his trembling subsided. He raised one hand, and before Mike had a chance to think about what might come next, he brought it down sharply on his ass. Mike jumped and gave a surprised grunt. Harvey spanked him again and continued with six more blows in rapid succession. He repeated the same process on Mike’s other cheek. The sounds echoed nicely in the bathroom, as did Mike’s gasps and grunts and squeals. Some of them sounded exaggerated, but Harvey would have bet that most of them were authentic.

While he removed his jacket, flipped his tie over his shoulder and unfastened his pants, Harvey kept his gaze on Mike’s beautifully reddened ass. Except for the rustle of fabric, the slide of his zipper, the only sound in the bathroom was Mike’s harsh breathing. Harvey had come prepared, and he set a condom and small tube of lube on the counter while he freed his already hard cock and stroked it a few times to bring it fully erect. He ripped open the condom wrapper and Mike jumped skittishly at the sound. Harvey rolled the condom on, coated it with lube, squeezed a dollop of lube onto two fingers and reached between Mike’s legs to rub against Mike’s pucker. This time Mike’s flinch was paired with a hissed intake of breath. Harvey rubbed and massaged, holding Mike steady with his other hand, pressing it lightly against the small of his back. He pushed the tip of one finger inside Mike, moved it in and out, working in silence.

He felt Mike relax and gave him two fingers, stroking deeper and deeper, massaging and loosening. He removed his fingers and lined up his cock, watching Mike’s face in the mirror. He still had his eyes closed, but they weren’t clenched tight like they had been. He rolled his head on his arms and breathed deeply and evenly. Harvey hooked an arm around Mike’s hips and pulled them up, starting to force his way inside, all the while using a palm to rub soothing circles on Mike’s lower back, trying to get him to relax. Mike’s eyes opened lazily and he met Harvey’s gaze in the mirror, gave a smile that was sensual, almost sleepy, and pressed back, opening up and letting Harvey in.

_My perfect boy_ , Harvey thought, but said nothing, keeping silent in order to continue spinning out the illusion of anonymous sex between two strangers. He began to move in a regular rhythm, holding Mike’s hips, keeping it slow and easy. In the mirror, he saw Mike bend his neck down, hiding his face between his arms. His feet shifted, coming wider apart to give Harvey better access.

Harvey petted Mike’s head, stroked his palm down his spine, tracing his curves, gave his ass a couple of sharp smacks, and increased his pace, snapping his hips and driving sharply into Mike’s tight heat. It felt amazing. They were both breathing loudly, damp with sweat, and he was getting close. Reaching around, he took hold of Mike’s hard, leaking cock and jerked him off roughly and Mike must have been right on the edge as well because he came within seconds, giving a smothered groan into his arms as his channel spasmed around Harvey, who exploded inside Mike, gritting his teeth and grunting as he continued to thrust shallowly through their aftershocks.

He kept one hand on Mike’s back holding him down, and savored the picture they made together in the mirror. He felt triumphant, powerful, a man at the top of his game, privilged to be in possession of this delicious piece of ass. He caressed Mike, bent lower and planted a soft kiss on the back of his neck, then pulled out carefully, disposed of the condom, zipped up his pants and straightened his tie. Giving Mike’s ass one more affectionate pat, he shrugged into his suit coat and headed for the door, throwing back over his shoulder, “Clean up and meet me outside.”


	7. Chapter 7

It took Mike longer than he would have imagined to get himself put back together. His fingers shook uncontrollably as he cleaned himself up with the scratchy paper towels provided by the restaurant and then dressed himself. The door opened suddenly while he was running a hand through his hair, trying to return it to something he recognized, to return _himself_ to someone he recognized. He froze as a man came in and headed for one of the urinals, cursing himself for forgetting to lock the door after Harvey left.

Who was he kidding, though? Harvey hadn’t told him to lock the door, hadn’t given him permission, and so it hadn’t even crossed his mind. In hardly more than half a day, he had changed into someone who submitted to humiliation, who had risky sex in public bathrooms, and who had come so hard at the scene they had just played out that he felt like his legs were about to give out beneath him.

With one last glance in the mirror, he headed outside to find his client. And he had decided that he would only think of Harvey as that -- _The Client_ \-- because otherwise his growing feelings would become too tangled and confused for him to finish out his time and stay sane.

Harvey was on his phone, pacing up and down the sidewalk. When he spotted Mike, he raised a hand and just like that, a cab arrived at the curb and they got in. Neither spoke on the short ride back to Harvey’s condo. On the elevator, Harvey said, staring straight ahead, “When we get inside, get undressed. I have to do a little work - maybe an hour’s worth. You can do what you like as long as you’re naked and in view at all times. Watch TV, listen to music, use my Xbox, sleep. Just keep the volume down to a dull roar and don’t bother me. Understand?”

Mike followed him inside, nodding. “Aye aye, Captain.”

“And watch the attitude. I’m still not happy about that stunt you pulled with Lawrence Hart. Mike? Don’t just stand there. Start stripping.”

Mike yanked off the tie and began working on the buttons of the shirt, silently reflecting that he’d never dressed and undressed so much in his life, but that he might as well get used to it. Out loud he said, “I am sorry about that. He caught me by surprise and it sort of seemed like an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.” He turned away a little and unfastened and unzipped his pants. He thought about confessing to the appointment he’d made, but thought better of it. Harvey had no exclusive rights to his time, after all. “I won’t make that mistake again, believe me.” He stepped out of the pants and stripped off the white panties, turning back to Harvey and twirling them once on his index finger. “You sure you don’t have any more cute little panties for me to wear?”

Harvey had opened a laptop and was setting up at the wide marble counter separating the living room from the kitchen. He gave a grunt. “Be careful what you ask for.”

Mike scratched his chest and then bent down to pick up the discarded clothes. “Duly noted. Where do you want all this?”

Harvey gave a disinterested wave. “Throw it all in the hamper. The service will sort it out later.”

Mike shrugged and took a step in that direction, but caught a small movement out of the corner of his eye. A rectangle of paper fluttered to the ground. He realized immediately what it was, and tried to shift the clothes to one arm to grab it, but before he could, Harvey was there and had scooped up the paper which Mike had recognized as Lawrence Hart’s card.

Harvey glanced at the front, turned it over, and raised his eyes to pin Mike with his gaze. A parade of dark emotions flitted across his face and shone in his eyes, but he only held the card out to Mike and said, “Yours, I’m guessing?”

After the briefest of pauses, Mike took the card from him, and tried not to blush. He hadn’t exactly lied to Harvey, but still couldn’t help feeling as if he’d been caught out. “Thanks.”

Harvey turned his back, and Mike started out of the room, only to be brought up short by Harvey’s sardonic voice. “Quite the enterprising little networker, aren’t you?”

As much as he tried to just keep walking and not engage, Mike found himself spinning back around to face Harvey. “Hey, a guy’s gotta eat, right? And I’ve got you to thank for giving me the idea in the first place.”

“And you’ve certainly taken to it. Shit, all those wasted years and you never knew. Too bad they don’t test for hooker aptitude in school.”

Stung, Mike stared at Harvey’s tense back. “What is your problem, Harvey? You want a commission or something? Ten percent of what Hart’s going to pay me? Which, by the way, dwarfs your offer by....well, significantly.”

Harvey turned slowly, stripping out of his jacket and loosening his tie. “Well, bravo, kid. I can see you’re going to be quite the success in your new profession. You keep your money, though. You’ve certainly worked for it, and I’m sure Hart will make you earn every penny he pays you. Will I need to book our next session in advance, now that your schedule’s going to be filling up?”

He stomped into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of scotch and cut crystal glass from his cupboards and poured a healthy portion. He didn’t offer Mike any. “Christ, Mike, this was just supposed to be a fun little mutually gratifying arrangement, but you’ve certainly taken it and run with it.” He raised his glass in a mock toast. “Kudos to you.” He drank, turned away again and sat at one of the stools at the counter. “There’s a TV in the bedroom. Get the hell away from me. If I want you again before your time’s up, I’ll let you know. Right now I have work to do.”

Every word that Harvey spoke sliced into Mike like a fire-heated knife. He stood, frozen, staring at Harvey’s back, chest tight, wondering what the hell had just happened. Finally, he picked up the discarded clothes and fled the room.

 

******

 

Harvey expelled a shaky breath when he heard the door to his bedroom close with a decisive click. He rose, carrying his drink, and walked restlessly to the living room windows, staring out over the city. He shouldn’t care. He _didn’t_ care, god damn it. Just...this was a development he hadn’t anticipated. He should have. He’d turned Mike into a commodity, and Mike was intelligent enough to understand that, and quick-witted enough to take advantage of the potential clientèle offered by Hart and his friends.

He’d heard whispers about some of their exclusive parties, had even been invited once when he’d worked at the DA’s office. Orgies weren’t really his thing, though, so he’d declined. Mike probably didn’t realize that his appointment with Hart served a dual purpose, both to satisfy Hart’s kinks and as an audition. Only the best were hired for Hart’s parties.

Harvey sipped his drink. Would Mike pass muster? He gave a humorless puff of laughter. Of course he would. His youthful appearance and acting skills would impress Hart just as surely as they had impressed Harvey. Should he warn Mike?

He scowled down at the expensive scotch in his glass. Mike wasn’t his problem. Harvey had only wanted to help the kid out, not become his babysitter. So he’d let Mike sink or swim on his own. Hell, he probably wouldn’t believe Harvey anyway, would assume that he wanted to throw a wrench into his promising new career. Tossing back the rest of his scotch, he returned to his laptop, perched on a stool and began drafting some changes Sylvia had requested to the merger agreement. After a time, he managed to put Mike from his mind and focus on the work.

 

******

 

Mike sat on Harvey’s bed, elbows on his knees, head hanging down. His stomach churned at the unfairness and cruelty of Harvey’s words. Resentment for Harvey rose up and choked him, left him gulping for air, pulse racing, unable to get enough oxygen, and he realized with mild amazement that he was having a panic attack. He forced himself to take slow, even breaths, but that only made him lightheaded, so he stood and began pacing the length of Harvey’s bedroom, back and forth, biting the inside of his cheek and pressing his nails into the palms of his hands, struggling to stay grounded.

Finally he calmed down, was able to just stop and breathe. It was then that the guilt caught up with him. Guilt and regret. He’d screwed up, angered Harvey so badly that he couldn’t even bear to look at Mike. He started pacing again, thinking hard this time, trying to figure out a way to make it up to Har -- to his client. He didn’t want to interrupt the client while he was working. But he had to come check on Mike eventually, right? He hoped so.

With a plan forming, he did a quick search of the room and almost immediately found a drawer filled with what must certainly be the items Harvey had collected for play time with Mike. He smiled at the number and variety of women’s undergarments, but left those in the drawer. The client had specifically asked for him naked, and he would abide by that request. Instead, he gathered a number of other items and began preparing himself.

 

Time stretched almost unbearably as Mike waited. He couldn’t see, but even with the blindfold it seemed that the light had altered, changed angles, brightened briefly and then began to dim. He shifted, glad that he’d chosen to lie on his back, instead of kneeling. Harvey was either working longer than he’d intended, or was angrier at Mike than he’d realized. He shifted on the bed, spreading his legs wider, planting his feet more firmly on the bed. The butt plug pressed against his prostate and he shifted again. He had considered using the cock ring he found, but decided to forgo it, since he didn’t know how long he would be waiting there. The cuffs had been the most difficult item, but he had managed to thread the connecting chain through Har -- the client’s headboard and fasten them around his wrists.

He almost wished he could see what he looked like. If his arms weren’t stretched above his head, wrists securely restrained with the padded leather cuffs, he might have searched for his phone and snapped off a couple of selfies. As it was, he could only imagine the picture he must make. He writhed a little, dry-humped the air and gave a drooling moan against the ball gag. It had occurred to him perhaps an hour earlier that if Harvey -- no, god damn it, The Client -- if his client chose to just forget about him, he had no way of calling out or freeing himself. That thought made him shiver, made his half-hard cock throb just that much more with arousal.

He was completely helpless. He’d put himself in that position, but allowed himself to imagine that it had been his client who had blindfolded, gagged and chained him to the wall. No, for this fantasy, not his client after all. A hard, ruthless, nameless man had lured him here and trussed him up. Maybe a pirate? No. That wasn’t quite right. A criminal? Contract killer? His thoughts drifted as he considered the possibilities. FBI, he decided. Undercover agent who had to maintain a facade of cruelty, but would never actually hurt him.

 _God_ , he thought, if Harvey, or the client, or his nameless tormentor didn’t show up soon, he might have to test the limits of his flexibility so he could free himself and jerk off like a madman.

The door opened. Finally. _Finally._

Mike heard a quick intake of breath and then silence. Minutes of silence. The door latched quietly and he could have screamed. Had the bastard left him there? But then he heard the soft rustle of fabric, of clothing whispering to the carpet, the slide of a zipper, deep, even breathing which began to speed up and grow more erratic.

“Mike.”

That one word held such a complex mix of emotions that he couldn’t begin to sort them out. He writhed a little, arching his back, displaying himself as appealingly as he could. The bed dipped with the client’s weight and Mike jumped when a hand touched his face, tracing the ball gag. Another hand went between his legs, exploring the butt plug, twisting and testing it. The pressure on his jaw eased and he realized he’d been released from the gag. Soft material -- a handkerchief? -- wiped the drool from his chin.

He worked his aching jaw for a few seconds then whispered, “Thank you.”

The client brushed his hair back, leaned down and pressed his lips to Mike’s temple. Then the blindfold was dragged from his head, rumpling his hair, and Mike could see again. He blinked, surprised by how dark it had grown outside. How late was it?

When the client -- who had stripped completely Mike was happy to note -- reached up for his wrists, Mike couldn’t help it. “No,” he protested, nearly choking on the word.

“How long have you been like this?”

Mike shrugged. “I’m not sure. A while. What time is it?”

“Six thirty.” At Mike’s look of confusion, he continued, “My work took longer than I had anticipated.”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but Mike had to ask. “Are you still angry with me?”

“Let’s not talk about that now. Time is running out and you’ve set quite the table for me here. It’d be a shame if I didn’t feast on it. On you.”

He kissed the side of Mike’s neck, underneath his chin, his shoulder. Moving with an athlete’s grace, he straddled Mike’s hips, sitting back on his heels while he smoothed his hands over Mike’s chest and shoulders, caressing and soothing. Leaning in, he captured Mike’s mouth with his own, letting his tongue play inside, exploring and stroking. The kiss went on and it was perfect and Mike felt as if he were melting inside. He wasn’t sure when his arms were freed, just became aware that his hands were behind Harvey, smoothing themselves down the shifting planes of his shoulder blades and back muscles, down his spine to his ass. He held them there, massaging lightly, savoring the weight of the larger man holding him down. He could taste expensive scotch on Harvey’s tongue and he heard himself moan into his mouth as he tried to get closer.

If he could have, he would have crawled whole into Harvey’s mouth and let him consume him until he no longer existed.

And when had The Client become Harvey once more?

Mike felt it when the butt plug was pulled gently from him. He bit off a whine when Harvey moved his mouth from his and rolled off of him, but he was reaching for the nightstand drawer and a condom and Mike approved of that because it meant his wait was over. He watched Harvey rip the wrapper open with his teeth and roll the condom on his big cock, lube it thoroughly, eying Mike through slitted eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his wide mouth as if he knew the effect he was having on Mike, and wanted to put on a little show for him.

Mike palmed his own flushed cock and stroked it while Harvey prepared himself. Then Harvey was back, kneeling over him, knocking his hand away and lifting Mike’s legs so they rested on his thighs. Harvey paused then, seeming to want to draw things out. He thumbed and pinched Mike’s nipples, leaned in for another endless, searing kiss.

Harvey lifted his head, capturing Mike with a dark soulful gaze. Because Mike was stretched and ready, it only took moments for Harvey to slide into him, groaning his pleasure. He started to move in long, slow lazy strokes. Mike reached above himself and took hold of the cuffs, which remained attached to the headboard. With ease, he lifted his legs over Harvey’s shoulders, and when Harvey plunged in, deeper yet, Mike could feel him pulsing inside of him, matching the beat of his own heart.

A sound came out of Mike, and it was Harvey’s name, whispered with a longing that Mike had never meant to reveal. He shut his eyes, focusing on the physical sensation of Harvey stroking in and out of him, slowly picking up speed, changing angles subtly and hitting Mike’s prostate again and again so that Mike saw spinning galaxies behind his eyelids.

“Mike,” Harvey gasped. “Look at me.”

And how could he not obey? He opened his eyes and was met by Harvey’s nearly black gaze. His hips snapped faster and he took hold of Mike’s cock and jacked him off furiously, driving Mike straight to the edge and sending him over. Mike’s head fell back and, unable to stop himself, he yelled, his whole body jerking as if touched by a live wire. Dimly he was aware of Harvey pounding into him in short rapid-fire bursts while Mike’s channel spasmed around his cock. And then Harvey cried out in triumph and shot deep inside Mike and he could feel the heat of his cum, even through the condom, and wished he could feel it filling him up, dripping out of him later to remind him of this moment they’d arrived at finally, just him and Harvey, no costumes, no roles, just the two of them straining together in primitive joy.

 

Mike must have dozed off. He could remember Harvey collapsing on top of him, petting his his head and murmuring in his ear, but nothing after that. Now Harvey stood across the room, leaning against the wall, dressed once again. Mike sat up, groaning, as all of his aches caught up with him. He smiled over at Harvey and noticed something in his hand. It was an envelope.

“Well, kid,” said Harvey, voice mocking and cool. “You made it twenty-four hours. Congratulations. It’s been interesting, but I’m going to have to kick you out now since I’m not prepared to pay you overtime.”

“Uh,” said Mike, struggling to get his thoughts together, “okay.” He dragged his legs over the side of the bed and nodded at the envelope. “Is that....?”

“Your fee? Sure is. $5,000, just like we agreed to.” As if unable to bear the thought of moving closer or touching Mike again, Harvey flipped the envelope through the air and it landed at Mike’s feet. “I put your clothes by the front door.”

“Oh. Great. Thanks.”

Mike retrieved the envelope, got to his feet and stood there awkwardly, just staring at Harvey, waiting for him to say more, to acknowledge that something amazing had just happened between. But he never moved, just continued to regard Mike with polite impatience, as if he couldn’t wait for him to be gone. Feeling foolish, Mike smiled tightly, raised the envelope and saluted Harvey with it, and headed for the front door.

It seemed to take him an eternity to get dressed, as if he had forgotten how to work a zipper or tie his shoelaces. Cold had seeped into him again and by the time he opened the door and punched the down button on the elevator, he was shivering and he felt like crying, which was stupid. He’d just made $5,000 and it was easy money, they easiest he’d ever made.

_Yeah, you tell yourself that. Keep telling yourself and maybe you’ll believe it._

When he stepped out on the sidewalk, he discovered that a cab was waiting for him. He should have been touched, grateful for this last, thoughtful gesture from Harvey, but it felt too much as if he wanted Mike as far away from him as he could get, as quickly as he could get him there. But he took the cab, and as it pulled away from the curb, he opened the envelope, took out the cashier’s check, and allowed himself a small smile.

The smile dimmed, then disappeared completely when he realized that Harvey had said nothing about scheduling a second session.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Mike had planned on doing nothing more that night, just taking a shower, maybe smoking up, and then sleeping late before his appointment with Lawrence Hart. When he got home, though, Trevor was waiting for him on the sidewalk outside his apartment.

“Where the hell have you been?” Trevor greeted him. “We’ve got problems.”

Mike remembered his phone, which Harvey had ordered him to turn off before his appointment. Pulling it out of his pocket, he saw that he had six missed calls, all from Trevor. The thought of dealing with Trevor’s drama had him scowling as he unlocked the front door and let them both into the hallway.

“This is a bad time, Trevor. I need some sleep.”

“Fuck sleep. After you screwed up that buy last week -- ”

Mike started up the stairs, not looking back. “I didn’t screw up anything. You sent me there so _you_ wouldn’t get busted. Well, I nearly did, and I don’t want anything more to do with your shady deals.”

“I had no way of knowing about the cops, Mike. And like I was trying to tell you, I managed to unload that stuff after all, but I took a huge loss.”

“And I care because....”

They entered Mike’s apartment and Trevor dropped down onto the couch as if he planned to be there all night. Mike went to the kitchen and got them each a bottle of beer. He sat next to Trevor, leaving plenty of space between them.

“Mike. Come on, man. It’s me.” He took a long swallow of beer and Mike watched his throat work. Not long ago just that sight would have been enough to get him hot and bothered, but now he looked away, disinterested, when Trevor turned to him with a wide grin and raised his bottle. “Partners in crime, right?”

“Wrong. It’s too risky. Don’t try to involve me again.” He drank deeply and crossed his arms defensively. He could feel Trevor staring at him, but he kept his gaze turned steadfastly away.

Trevor punched his arm playfully, grabbed his shoulder and gave him a shake. “Don’t be like that.” He slid closer, until their thighs pressed together, and wrapped his arm around Mike’s shoulders. “Be nice, Mikey.” He ground his palm against Mike’s crotch and Mike slapped him away.

“Don’t,” Mike said sharply.

“Ah, come on. Let me fuck you, dude. The Fortins have been giving me shit about their money, and it’s got me all knotted up. Just bend over for me. I promise I’ll be quick.”

“No.”

Trevor leaned back, studying Mike closely. “What’s got you so bitchy?”

“Nothing,” gritted Mike, but that wasn’t true. He couldn’t remember another time that he’d ever turned Trevor down whenever he wanted a quick fuck or a blow job. He knew he didn’t owe Trevor an explanation, but the other man was staring at him, seemingly prepared to wait him out. “I’m a little sore,” Mike finally admitted, and it was the truth. He’d never been used so hard or so often in a twenty-four hour period.

Trevor grinned. “So that’s where you were. Was he any good?”

“I’m not going to discuss this with you.”

That shut Trevor up for a minute. Then he asked, “Is your hand sore too?”

Mike stood abruptly. “I’m going to take a shower.”

He hoped Trevor would get the hint and leave, but as he closed the door to the bathroom, he heard Trevor’s amused voice calling after him. “This is your idea of friendship? Not cool, Mikey. I’ll just be out here masturbating, you ungrateful little shit.”

Mike dragged his clothes off and left them in a heap on the ground. As he soaped and rinsed underneath scalding hot water, he wondered what Trevor thought he should be grateful for. He’d been doing Trevor a favor by delivering that pot. A favor that, admittedly, would have carried a $25,000 payoff, but still.

He toweled off, rubbing the towel over his flesh with more force than necessary, hoping to remove any lingering scent of Harvey. He hadn’t wanted to think of Harvey, but there he was, thinking about Harvey.

Could he bring himself to call Harvey later in the week to set up a second appointment? What if Harvey turned him down? What if he agreed?

Right at that moment he could honestly say that he wasn’t sure which would be worse.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and returned to the front room, to be greeted by the sight of Trevor sprawled full length on his couch, one foot on the ground, the other braced against the armrest, pants to his knees, hand wrapped around his cock and jacking off for all he was worth.

“Ah, geez, Trevor. Real classy.”

“Join me,” Trevor wheezed, slitting one eye to get a look at Mike “Lose the towel and get over here.”

Mike ignored him, walking to the dresser for a pair of briefs and a t-shirt. He threw the damp towel at Trevor’s head. “Don’t make a mess on my couch.” He sat in a chair, shut his eyes and listened to Trevor’s inelegant squawks as he came half a minute later. Fabric rustled. He heard Trevor get up and leave. The toilet flushed, and Trevor was back. Finally, Mike opened his eyes. Trevor sat on the couch grinning at Mike. “All done?” Mike asked him.

A shrug. “For now. We still need to talk money, though.”

“You know I don’t have any.” Which was when he noticed the piece of paper Trevor held.

“What’s this, then?” Trevor asked, waving the cashier’s check from Harvey.

Mike would have lunged for it, but he knew from past experience that would only end with him on the floor being pummeled by the larger man. “You went through my pockets?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Trevor held the check in front of himself. “Remitter,” he read, “Harvey Specter. And what did you do for Harvey Specter that was worth $5,000?”

Mike glared hard. “None of your business.”

“I’m your friend Mikey, of course its my business.” He pursed his lips as if thinking. “It’s a puzzler, though. You’re gone for a whole day. You show up in a cab, looking exhausted, too sore to get fucked by your best bud. Can’t wait to get in the shower.” Bright, amused eyes stared back at Mike. “I’m doing the math, and I have to say, this all adds up to something really fascinating. Want to guess what answer I’m coming up with?”

Mike felt himself blushing, which only made him angrier. “Give me the fucking check, Trevor.”

“Hm. Nope.”

Mike stood, trying to looking menacing in his underwear. Judging by Trevor’s expression, he was failing badly. “God damn it. I earned that money.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that.” Trevor’s grin grew dirty and a little cruel. “What did he make you do, Mikey? Did he tie you up and beat you? Make you call him Daddy? Did you have to suck his big fat cock and let him come all over your face?”

Mortified, Mike maintained a stony silence. He turned away so Trevor wouldn’t see how close to the truth some of his barbs had hit. It shouldn’t matter. He’d known what he was doing, had agreed to everything, but he had never intended for anyone to know, least of all Trevor. When he felt Trevor’s hands on his shoulders, he tensed up, but as those big hands started to massage him, all the fight went out of him.

“It’s okay, Mike,” Trevor murmured in his ear. “I’m not judging you. I’m actually kind of impressed. I mean, $5,000 for what? A day?”

“Twenty-four hours.” Trevor’s hands were relaxing Mike. His friend knew just where Mike carried his stress. He smiled reluctantly, a little smug and, absurdly, a little proud in spite of all the filthy things he’d done for Harvey. “Not bad for my first time out.”

“First time? No shit?”

“Yep. And I’ve already upped my rate to a thousand an hour.”

Trevor’s hands paused, then started up again, even more enthusiastically. “ _Go_ , Mike,” he said. “You’re telling me you were so good this Specter guy wants to pay you more?”

That made Mike frown. He stepped away, brushing off the hands that tried to follow him. “No....” He started to sit on the couch, remembered Trevor’s recent performance there, and opted for the chair instead. “See, he’s a lawyer, and right in the middle of our...you know...our time together, he gets a call and he has to go see a big important client. At the Empire Club.”

Trevor gave an impressed whistle. “And you snagged his client?”

“Not the client. Her son. He’s rich as fuck, so I asked for more and he didn’t even blink. I’m going to see him tomorrow afternoon. And I figure if I play this right, he might have friends, might give me a reference.”

Trevor was quiet for a long time, staring at the check in his hands. Finally, he folded it in half and handed it to Mike, who took it with no small amount of surprise. “Mike,” Trevor said, voice filled with fondness, “I was wrong about you. I always thought it was your brain that would be our fortune. Who knew it would be that scrawny body of yours that made us rich?”

“I’m not scrawny, and -- Hold up. _Us_?”

“Sure. Every high-priced whore needs a business manager to look after their interests.”

Mike nearly choked on his own tongue. “You’re asking to be my pimp?”

“You have no idea what you’re getting into, Mikey. You’ve been lucky so far, but you’re going to need someone to look after you, to watch your back. Plus, you’re going to need someone to keep track of your appointments, remind you of any particular requests, make sure you present yourself in a professional manner.”

Mike shook his head in disbelief. “You sound like you know something about this.”

Trevor shrugged. “A couple girls at Columbia were having trouble coming up with tuition. I organized things for them. Made sure the johns were safe. They got the money they needed, and I took a modest fee for my trouble.” He smiled down at his hands. “I was going to ask if you wanted in, but then we got kicked out and...well, that was that. Shit, if I’d known you’d be so successful at hooking, I’d never have bothered with that stupid cheating scheme.”

“Get this straight: I do not need a pimp. This is only temporary, until I earn enough to pay the nursing home.” His refusal seemed to have no effect on Trevor, who maintained his look of gleeful avarice. “I see those dollar bills dancing in your eyes, Trevor, but if you think I’m going to become some kind of meal ticket for you, you’re out of your mind.”

“Am I? Think about this, then. What happens if one of your johns gets rough with you, or refuses to pay you? What if your stated limits aren’t respected? What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Ask for the money up front? Trust my instincts?”

“Right, because your instincts have done so much for you.”

“My instincts kept me from getting arrested with a briefcase full of pot last week.”

“Just think about it. In one hour on your back -- or, you know, wherever -- you’d make more than you do in a week right now. And with me behind the scenes running the show, you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.” He moved over to Mike and crouched beside his chair. “Those two girls at Columbia? One of them sounded just like you, at first. She didn’t want to share her money, didn’t know why she needed me. I got a call from her one night. She was out with a client and he got carried away, wanted things she hadn’t agreed to. So she locked herself in the bathroom and called me. I took care of the situation.”

Mike frowned at him. “Took care of it how?”

“I persuaded him to make things right.” He put his hand on Mike’s forearm, rubbed it reassuringly. “I could do that for you. Protect you.”

It made him a little sick to his stomach, the idea of Trevor pimping him out, but in spite of that, Mike was beginning to see the logic in what Trevor was offering. He still wasn’t quite ready to agree. “And how much do you get paid for all this protection?”

“Ten percent.” Trevor gazed at him imploringly. “Please, Mike. If I don’t get some money together fast, the Fortins will take it out on my hide, and believe me, they know how to inflict pain. Say yes. Give it a chance.” He jiggled Mike’s arm. “Mike?”

Mike groaned, laying his head back on the chair. “I’m so going to regret this, but I guess we could give it a try.”

Trevor beamed. “Yes!” He got to his feet and began pacing. “I’ll get us a couple of burner phones. You give out my number to anyone who asks. Let’s see...no personal checks....”

Mike tuned Trevor out as he continued articulating his plan. It felt like things were spinning out of control, a simple idea becoming much too complicated. He was already regretting agreeing to Trevor’s involvement, but at the same time he felt relief that he wouldn’t be in it alone. Trevor at least seemed to know how the business worked, which was more than Mike could say.

He stood up and headed for the bedroom, unable to stifle a yawn. “You set things up however seems best. If we get any interest from Hart’s friends, just remember not to overbook me, okay? And lock up when you let yourself out.”

He shut the bedroom door firmly behind himself and fell face first onto the bed. As he slid rapidly into sleep, his second to last thought was to wonder what sort of kinks he would have to deal with when he saw Lawrence Hart the next day.

His last thought, hoarded since he’d sunk down into the seat of the cab, was of Harvey, of that perfect moment right before Mike dozed off with Harvey’s warm, solid body pressed against him, spent cock still buried deep inside of him, touching him tenderly, as if he actually cared about him.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Mike had assumed, based on Lawrence Hart’s address, that his his home would be impressive, and he was not disappointed. He lived in an immaculate older building, taking up the entire top floor, and overlooking Central Park. A maid greeted him at the door, a middle-aged woman in a neatly starched uniform who appeared unfazed as she handed him a bundle wrapped in brown paper and said, “I’m to instruct you to undress, shower thoroughly, and dress yourself in what you’ll find in the package.” She led him down a long hallway (and he did his best not to gawk at all of the antiques and priceless artwork) and to a large, modern bathroom. “Leave your own clothes on the shelf, along with your cell phone, wallet and any personal jewelry.” She pointed to the wall next to the sink, and he was surprised and a little amused to see a shelf neatly labeled, “Mike Ross.” A sealed envelope sat on the shelf.

“Your fee is in the envelope. When you’re ready, Mr. Hart will be waiting beyond that door.”

Mike turned toward the far corner of the bathroom and spotted the door. “Thanks,” he said, turning back around, but the woman was already gone. “Okay,” he whispered. Curious, he tore open the package and found what looked like a very short toga, and a pair of gold-painted leather sandals.

_Oh my hell. This should be interesting._

Bathed and dressed (and trying to ignore the fact that his toga didn’t even reach down far enough to completely cover his naked ass), he opened the door onto a scene from some cheesy Hollywood version of ancient Rome. On a raised dais in the middle of the room, Lawrence half-reclined on a lush pile of purple satin pillows. He wore a floor length version of Mike’s outfit, snowy white trimmed with purple and gold, and had a crown of gold laurels on his head. One hand held a heavy gold goblet studded with jewels so large they couldn’t be real (could they?).

Besides Hart’s dais, the room held a multitude of potted plants, and a huge bed against the far wall which had manacles hanging from the wall above the headboard. A low table filled with beverages and finger foods stood to one side of the dais. The walls were painted with erotic images of couples and threesomes cavorting in various poses, and the floor was intricate mosaic tile topped with a scatter of plush Persian carpets. Draped white fabric hid the farther reaches of the room.

Hart noticed him, and gave him a haughty glare. “You dare come before your emperor,” he drawled, “and you do not kneel?”

“I...what? Oh. Sure” Mike dropped to his knees, and then for good measure, he bent forward and touched his forehead to the floor. “A thousand pardons your, uh, Excellency.” A little belatedly, he thought to pretend to tremble in terror.

“Come here, slave. Crawl to me.”

Mike crawled, head down, all too aware of his bare ass wagging behind him as he moved. When the dais appeared in his field of vision he stopped.

“Do you know why you’re here, boy?”

Mike knew exactly why he was there, but he tried to put himself in the mindset of a Roman slave boy. “I’m here to serve your Excellency.”

“Get up here.” He snapped his fingers several times and Mike scrambled up onto the dais. “Prostrate yourself in front of your emperor.”

Mike lay flat and heard Hart stand. He paced slowly around Mike. A sandaled foot kicked Mike’s legs apart and then he felt Hart crouch behind him and flip up Mike’s garment. “Very comely,” said Hart, approval warming his voice. He stroked Mike’s bottom, stood up and held out his hand. “I want to play with you. Come sit with me.”

Mike nodded, let himself be helped to his feet and led back to the pile of pillows. Hart dropped onto the pillows, moving a few of them behind his back, and pulled on the hem of Mike’s toga to drag him closer. Mike gulped and shot him a fearful look. “Now, now. Don’t be bashful, boy. You will sit on my lap and let me touch you.”

Feeling a little silly, Mike lowered himself and sat on Hart’s lap.

“Put your arms around my neck. That’s right. No squirming. Stay still while I explore my precious new possession.”

It wasn’t easy, but Mike did his best to sit passively while Hart’s hands wandered underneath his clothes, exploring his privates, squeezing his ass, rubbing his thighs, probing his hole. While his hands molested Mike, his mouth sucked on Mike’s neck and shoulder. “So sweet,” he breathed, resting one hand on the back of Mike’s neck and tickling the hairs there. “Such an innocent.” He chuckled. “The eunuchs assure me you’re a virgin.” He leered at Mike. “Tonight, in just a short while, I’m going to be your first. I’m going to put my big imperial cock into your tight little hole and take what is mine. Do you realize what an honor it is to be deflowered by your emperor?”

Mike widened his eyes and nodded solemnly, although he was filing away “big imperial cock” to mention to Trevor later because, really? Who said stuff like that?

Hart eyed him as if doubting Mike’s sincerity, then nodded. “All right. I”m going to teach you what you need to know to please me. Just do as I say and I won’t have to punish you. Understand?” Mike nodded again. “Good. First, pour me some more of that champagne.”

Mike lifted the bottle from a bucket of melting ice and refilled Hart’s goblet.

“Now go lie down on the bed.” When Mike had complied, he continued lazily issuing instructions. “You’re going to prepare yourself for me, and I’m going to watch. There’s a pot of ointment next to the bed. Smear some on your fingers. Go on now.”

Mike pretended not to understand. “Prepare myself? How?”

“Open yourself up. Push a finger inside yourself.”

Mike fake-trembled. “Sir? I don’t think I can do that. It’s not decent.”

“You can and you will. If you don’t, I’ll call in two of my guards to do it for you and believe me, they won’t be gentle.”

Mike squeezed his eyes shut, lifted his bent knees to his chest, and probed himself with one finger. He gasped as if surprised at the sensation. He pushed in further then withdrew and pushed two fingers inside. He grunted as if it pained him, but in reality it felt good and he started to move his fingers in and out, circling them a little as he did so.

“That’s right, boy. Fuck those fingers in and out. Get yourself nice and loose.”

Mike chanced a look at Hart and saw him stroking himself through his robes. His stared avidly at Mike, who flushed with unfeigned shame at the lewd act he was performing in front of a stranger. It felt _dirty_ but that only served to excite him and his cock started to fill.

“Very nice,” Hart whispered. “Such a pretty slave boy. You like that, eh? You have my permission to touch your cock. Stroke it. Show me how much you like it. Let me hear you.”

Mike wrapped his hand around his cock and put on a show for Hart, arching up and moaning. Seized with sudden inspiration, he took a gulping sob and pretended to weep softly while he gazed imploringly at Hart. “Please, sir, I need to come. I need....” He bit his lip.

“No. Absolutely not. I forbid it. If you come before I allow it, you’ll be beaten.”

He couldn’t help himself and couldn’t have explained his reaction. Hearing Hart’s threat turned Mike on and he jacked himself faster, as sloppily and inexpertly as the virgin he was supposed to be. Within less than a minute, he sent himself over the edge with a hoarse cry and kept rubbing, panting and shaking, until he became too sensitive to continue. Then he looked down at his messy stomach and thighs in mock horror.

He heard Hart moving and looked up to see him advancing on him, expression thunderous. He held the goblet in one hand, and a black leather paddle in the other. He threw the goblet angrily away from himself and expensive champagne puddled on the floor. “How dare you,” he said, voice low and excited. “Get on your hands and knees. Face the wall.”

Mike moved quickly to obey. The manacles hung in front of him, and he eyed them nervously, although he saw now that although metal, they were lined with soft fleece.

“Shall I chain you to the wall?” Hart asked. “Or will you be a good boy and hold still while I beat you?”

Mike hesitated over his answer. He dearly wanted to be chained and helpless, to see what it was like, but he remembered Trevor’s warning when he’d stopped by this morning to issue further instructions and advice. Letting a client restrain you before you knew him better was never a good idea. Mike could see the sense in that, so he cowered a little, hung his head and whispered, “I’ll be good, Master. I promise.”

The blows began with no warning, raining down on his ass, sharp and rhythmic. As Mike struggled to maintain his position, he could only be grateful that the spanking he’d gotten from Harvey the previous day had been brief and hadn’t left any bruises. It seemed he wouldn’t get off so easily with Hart. He never hit Mike terribly hard, but he had a way of flicking his wrist at the end of each stroke which made each blow sting like a sonofabitch, and before he knew it, Mike was crying out in unison with the fleshy smacks on his backside, and as the spank count rose he was mortified to hear a continuous keening issue from his throat. This seemed to excite Hart, and he braced one hand against the wall above Mike’s head and increased the pace, grunting and panting harshly as he exerted himself.

Mike’s ass was on fire. One small rational part of his brain kept asking him how he had gotten himself here, half-naked and getting his ass beaten by a stranger for money. He desperately wished that this part of his brain would shut the fuck up. In an attempt to drown it out, he let his keening rise into a prolonged scream, sustaining it until his voice broke and the scream turned into a sob and suddenly he was weeping without control or filter and there was nothing fake about it.

The blows slowed and stopped. “Hush,” soothed Hart, rubbing Mike’s shaking shoulders. “It’s over. That’s it. Let it out.” Mike hiccuped once as he struggled to stop his sobbing and get himself back under control. Hart’s hands slipped from his shoulders, down his back, and skimmed lightly over Mike’s bottom, making him hiss in pain. “My goodness. Just look at you. Look at that beautiful cherry red ass. I’d love to photograph you just like that.”

Mike shot an alarmed look over his shoulder and Hart laughed.

“No, no, don’t look so worried. Only with your permission. Something to discuss later.” His voice dropped, grew a little husky. “Much later. Right now, I’ve got my little slave boy to attend to, don’t I?”

 

It was a chore to do anything more than kneel passively and let Hart pound into him. Mike had already gotten himself off, his cock showed no sign of imminent revival, and his ass throbbed every time Hart slammed into him. It would have made those interminable minutes easier to bear if he could have switched off his thoughts and feelings and drifted away to some other place. Hart was paying him good money, though, so he forced himself to move back to meet Hart’s strokes, and to moan as if he was unbearably aroused by the grunts and demeaning string of words Hart panted into his ear.

_My dirty boy. Unh. Good little whore. So tight. Take it. Fuuuuck yessss. You love it. How about I -- unh -- split you in two? Unh. Unh. Unh._

Mike almost wept with relief when Hart gave one last savage thrust and his hips stuttered spastically against Mike’s aching backside. One arm wrapped like a vise around Mike’s hips and his other hand clutched Mike’s hair, dragging his head back to muffle his coarse groans against Mike’s neck. His aftershocks seemed to go on forever, but he finally sagged against Mike’s back. Mike’s arms trembled for a moment, and then he collapsed under Hart’s weight and was pinned to the bed, Hart’s softening cock still lodged inside him.

Hart lay still for so long that Mike began to think he’d fallen asleep _._ He tried to wriggle out from beneath him. Hart’s head came up and his arm tightened around Mike. “Stay still, little one,” he murmured, rolling to one side to take most of his weight from Mike’s back, but keeping him firmly in his grasp. Mike winced as his cock slid free. Hart kissed his neck and reached for the hem of Mike’s toga. “You’ve made a mess of this,” he chided, and dragged the garment over Mike’s head. He rolled Mike so that he lay on his back and raked his gaze up and down his body. “Stay here. Just like that. Don’t move.”

Mike was just as happy to obey, although when Hart disappeared into the bathroom, he shifted to relieve the pressure on his ass. When Hart returned, he’d straightened out his long robes and had presumably disposed of his condom. He carried a basin of steaming hot water and several small cloths. When he came closer, Mike caught a whiff of something spicy and a little bit floral, and realized that the water was scented. Hart set the basin on a table next to the bed, wet one of the cloths and began to drag it over Mike’s body, bathing him slowly and thoroughly. He lifted each arm and ran the cloth up and down its length, over his chest, and down to his privates, which he spent a disproportionate amount of time fondling while he moved the wet cloth into every crevice and wrinkle and fold. Mike’s cock twitched but otherwise showed little interest.

Hart rolled him over and washed his back, scrubbing between his legs, stroking down the back of his legs, and even pushing the cloth between each toe, which tickled, and had Mike squirming.

“There,” said Hart, throwing the last used cloth into the basin and sitting back. “All clean. Sit up.”

Mike dragged his legs over the edge of the bed and sat next to Hart, who continued to stare at his body. Mike had to fight the urge to grab a blanket to cover himself up. Unsure what was expected of him, he gave Hart a shy smile.

Hart patted him on the head, gave his forehead an absent kiss. “You’ve pleased me,” he finally said. He captured Mike’s hand and held it between both of his. He stood up and tugged Mike toward the dais. “Come back over here. You can lay over my lap and I’ll rub some lotion on your bottom that will make you feel better. Then you can feed me supper. After that...we’ll find some more ways for you to please your emperor.”

 

Two hours later, Mike was showered, dressed and had $3,500 cash in his pocket. Lawrence Hart, it turned out, was a generous tipper. Mike opened the bathroom door and peered into the hallway, but there was no sign of the maid who had let him in, so he saw his own way out, replaying in his mind the final conversation he’d had with Hart before he’d been dismissed.

First, Hart had asked for a standing, weekly appointment, every Monday at 2:00. Mike had agreed readily, but remembered to give him Trevor’s phone number to “get him on the calendar.” By then, Hart had dropped the demanding Roman emperor persona, so Mike grew bold enough to say, “My business thrives through referrals and word of mouth, so if you know anyone who might be interested....”

“Absolutely. I’d be delighted to pass the word. In fact, if you’re free Friday night, a friend of mine is turning forty, and I think you might be just the thing to lift his spirits.”

Mike nodded, trying to remain nonchalant, but in his mind he was running the numbers. If Hart paid him the same amount he had today, Mike would be halfway to paying the nursing home the $25,000 to assure his grandmother’s continued stay there. “I’d be happy to accommodate your friend.” He pretended to think about it. “It’s kind of short notice for a Friday night, but if I’m not free I’ll ask my manager to juggle some appointments, and we should be all set.”

Hart smiled and patted Mike on the shoulder, seeming amused by Mike’s businesslike attitude. “Excellent. So, tell me, are you seeing Harvey Specter again anytime soon?”

Mike froze. _Deer, meet headlights_. That was the last question he’d been expecting. “I’d have to check, but no, I don’t think we’ve settled on anything definite. Although we have contracted for four more sessions.”

_Shut up, Mike. Why are you telling him this?_

“Of course,” he said, backtracking rapidly, “that’s strictly between you and me. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. You won’t repeat it, will you?”

Hart waved off his concerns. “Certainly not. That’s his business. Just like this -- ” He gestured around the room. “This is my business. My private indulgence. You understand that, don’t you?”

Nothing in Hart’s tone or body language suggested overt menace, but Mike got the message just the same. “Absolutely, because...confidentiality is the cornerstone of my business.” Which sounded stupid once the words left his mouth. Sex was the cornerstone of his new business, but he supposed confidentiality fit in there somewhere. Realizing belatedly that Hart had asked him a question, he blinked at him. “What?”

He touched Mike’s cheek fondly. “I said, I was serious earlier, about photographing you. No, don’t answer right now. Think it over and let me know next week. It’s nothing to get nervous about, though. It’s a hobby. Sort of my passion, actually. No one would ever see the photos but me. Maybe one or two close friends. And I would pay you well. One thousand per hour, and all you would have to do is pose. Not even that, really. I’d simply put you in various....scenes, where you’d only need to react naturally. Simple.”

Glad that he wasn’t being asked for his decision immediately, Mike nodded. “Okay. I’ll think about it.” And he would ask Trevor for his advice.

“Terrific.” Hart leaned down and kissed Mike on the cheek, shoving a wad of bills into his hand at the same time. “Run along now, and I’ll see you next week.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Mike was surprised to find Trevor waiting for him across the street from Hart’s building, pacing back and forth with his phone in his hand. Mike jaywalked and joined him.

“You followed me?” he asked.

“You’re late. And of course I followed you. Weren’t you paying attention? Anytime you have a new client, I’m there, close by. Just in case.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Trevor flagged down a cab, held the back door open for Mike and slid in after him.

“So? How did it go?”

Mike gaped at him in disbelief. “I’m not going to give you a recap, for fuck’s sake.”

Trevor gave a theatrical shudder. “As if I’d want to hear that shit. I meant in general, genius. He treated you okay? No complaints?”

Mike thought about it, and was surprised to realize that he hadn’t minded Hart so much. Even the paddling had been a...revelation. And once he had gotten over his initial embarrassment, the whole role-playing thing had been kind of...fun? No, not fun, precisely. Challenging. Nothing he ever wanted to speak of again, but challenging nonetheless. “No. No complaints. In fact, expect a call from him. He wants a weekly appointment, plus he wants to gift me to a buddy of his this Friday.” He pulled a face at that way that sounded, but figured there was no point in sugarcoating it.

Trevor gave him a gleeful -- and painful -- punch on the arm. “Perfect. I knew you’d come through.”

“Just...act like it’s a big deal to fit him in. I kind of oversold my current volume of business.”

Trevor laughed. “You always were a quick study.”

Mike grunted. “Shit. I’m wiped out. As soon as I get home, I’m going to take another shower and pass out. It’s a good thing I have a few days to recuperate.”

“Ah,” Trevor said, and then was quiet.

Something about the quality of Trevor’s silence, along with his averted face and nervous lip chewing, was both familiar and suspicious. “Ah? And what the hell does that mean?”

Trevor gave him a side-wise glance. “I may have gotten you some work while you were busy doing Richie Rich up there.”

Mike’s first instinct was to tear Trevor a new one, but the pragmatic part of his brain told him to get more information first. “We never agreed to that,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. ”Please do not tell me you’ve posted an ad on Craigslist or Backpage.”

“ _No_ ,” Trevor protested. “That is not the image we want to cultivate. If we play this right, you could end up as one of the most exclusive hookers in Manhattan. I just figured it might take a while to build up your clientèle, so until then we could go in a slightly different direction.”

Mike was getting that nauseous feeling again. He hadn’t felt this demeaned even when Lawrence Hart ordered him to ride him and he was bouncing up and down in his lap screaming, _yes, my emperor!_ Having Trevor handle the business end of Mike’s new profession was one thing, but why did he have to be so enthusiastic about it? He absolutely did not want the answer, but still he had to ask the question. “Trevor? What direction might that be?”

“Just think of it as practice, Mikey. The money isn’t as good, but it will be easy money. It’s all set up for tomorrow night. A room has been booked for you at The Baldwin Hotel.”

“Whoa. Wait. Hold it right there. You want me to pick up random guys at a hotel? Are you nuts? I’d probably be arrested.”

“No you won’t. They promised me it’s a foolproof arrangement. The johns are all vetted first. They’re mostly tourists, or guys in town for business. Quick. Easy. A suck or fuck and on to the next guy.”

Mike felt like his head might explode. He was that angry. “I -- You -- That -- ” Only sharp syllables emerged at first, but finally the whole of his anger and disbelief merged into two simple words. “You’re fired.”

The cab pulled up in front of his building, and he got out, slamming the door hard. Behind him, he heard Trevor paying the driver, and then he was right there, behind Mike, grabbing the door key out of his hand and holding it in his clenched fist.

“Mike. You have to listen to me.”

Whirling to face Trevor, Mike opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again and snarled, “When you said you wanted to be my pimp, I never thought you’d be my... _pimp._ This is not what I signed on for. Give me my god damn key.”

“We can’t back out of this.”

“ _We_?”

“It’s just this one night. Then we’re in the clear.”

“In the clear? In the clear with who?”

Trevor didn’t answer right away, just turned away and sat heavily on the steps. He rested his head in his hands. “It’s the Fortins, dude. They won’t wait for their money. They agreed to take it in trade, though.” He raised his head, his eyes pleading. “Just do this for me, Mikey. One night. After this it’s strictly Richie Rich and his buddies. Just say yes. You don’t want me in hot water with the Fortins, do you? Our obligation to them ends if you give them one night.”

Mike shook his head and laughed bitterly. “Jesus fucking Christ, Trevor. It’s always, ‘I, I, me, me’ until you want something, and then suddenly its ‘we,’ and ‘us.’ Do you possess even an ounce of shame?”

A deep, soulful sigh from Trevor. “I’m a work in progress. Just like you. And you know what? If we can get past our money obstacles, I bet we could make something of ourselves. We’re a team. Just like always. You do your part, and I do mine.”

“And what part is yours, exactly? This doesn’t seem like an equal ‘partnership’ to me.”

“Mike!” Trevor shot to his feet and thrust his face close to Mike’s. “Do you really want to see me get messed up by these guys? Because that’s what’s going to happen. If you don’t show up at the Baldwin tomorrow night -- ” He held both hands in front of Mike’s face, fingers spread apart and wiggling. “If you don’t show up, some of _these_ will be missing before morning. If you think you can live with that, fine. But I know you. I think you care too much about our friendship to let that happen.”

Mike leaned against the side of the building. Part of him insisted that Trevor was being melodramatic. But what if he wasn’t? What if Trevor did stand to get maimed, or worse, if Mike didn’t make himself available tomorrow night? He paused to think, really think, about what Trevor was asking him to do. Was it any different than what he’d already done with Harvey Specter and Lawrence Hart?

_Yes. It was different because I made those choices on my own._

He couldn’t do it. Not even for his best friend. “I’m sorry,” he began, but Trevor clapped a palm over his mouth to shut him up.

“No, Mike. Don’t say that.”

One of Mike’s neighbors climbed the stairs and edged past them, not making eye contact. Trevor took his hand from Mike’s mouth, but blocked the door with his body, and it clicked shut. Trevor had an ugly look on his face that Mike had only seen a few times before, when Trevor had been in a rage about something someone else had done or said. It made his stomach churn to see that look directed at him, but he hardened his heart against it and glared stonily back at Trevor.

“Ah, damn it, Mike.” Trevor shook his head. “I don’t want to have to do this....”

“Then don’t.”

He kept speaking as if he hadn’t heard Mike. “But I’m going to have to pull out the nuclear option.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It’s simple. Do this one thing for me, this one very simple thing, or I pay your grandmother a visit, and fill her in on your new career path. How do you think she’ll feel, knowing how you’re paying for her stay in that nice facility?”

Mike could feel the blood drain from his face. He knew exactly how Grammy would feel, and what she would do. She’d be packed and moved to a state facility before he even had a chance to get to her and explain. He weighed the two choices for half a minute: one night of high volume sex work versus Grammy spending her final years or even months living in the nasty conditions he’d seen when he’d toured the state run home.

Trevor must have seen the capitulation in Mike’s face because he was nodding smugly. “You’re going to say yes, aren’t you? You’re too smart not to. Too much of a good, dutiful grandson.”

“You’re a shit, Trevor. And Grammy was right about you. You’re nothing but a fucking anchor, trying to drag me down with you. Did you know that’s how she sees you?” If only he’d listened to her. Too late now.

“You’ve haven’t given me an answer yet. Did you know I have your sweet little Grammy on speed dial?”

“If I say yes, will you give me my key and go away?”

A slow smile lit Trevor’s face. “Does that mean you’re saying yes?”

“It means....God, I hate you so much right now. But I’ll do it. Just this once. After that, I choose my own clients. And as soon as I get the money I need for Grammy, I’m done. We’re done. Get this straight: you’ve burned every bridge today.”

“We’ll see.” He grabbed Mike’s hand and slid the key into his palm. “Go get your rest now. You’re going to need it.”

Mike set his hands against the door frame and kept an eye on them, taking deep, even breaths to keep himself from whirling around and throwing punches at the man he’d thought was his friend. “What time tomorrow night?”

“Seven o’clock. I’ll call you with a room number.”

Mike nodded, tight-lipped, and went inside.

 

******

 

**Friday**

The merger documents were signed, and Sylvia Hart had gotten everything she’d wanted: 51% share in the new company and authority over any new mineral rights acquired outside of North America.

“Brilliant work, Harvey,” she said, lighting a cigarette as they left the building. “Let’s celebrate. Drinks and dinner at my club.”

Harvey checked his watch. It was nearly six o’clock. “I have time for one drink. Rain check on dinner?” He spotted Ray half a block away and gave him a subtle wave. “There’s my car.”

 

Harvey wasn’t thrilled to be back at the Empire Club, and was even less thrilled when Lawrence Hart appeared and gave Sylvia a peck on the cheek before sliding into a chair at their table.

“You look happy, Mother. Everything right with your world, I take it?”

“Yes, thanks to Mr. Specter.”

“That’s nice,” he said, gazing around the club as if already bored with the conversation. “So I guess you’re still top spider, and may continue spinning your complicated webs.

Sylvia laughed. “Not a very flattering picture you paint.”

Their drinks arrived and Harvey took a healthy sip of his expensive Scotch, wondering how soon he could gracefully make his excuses and leave. Lawrence Hart, damn him, looked cheerful and smug, as if hoarding some secret. Harvey’s mind kept trying to present him with an image of Hart and Mike together, and his mind really needed to shut the hell up. He took another drink and looked up, surprised to see Sylvia rising from her seat.

“Sylvia?” he said, hoping he hadn’t missed something important in the small talk taking place between her and her stepson.

“I’m going outside to smoke,” she explained, patting him on his shoulder as she walked past.

A brief, uncomfortable silence fell. “You’re looking good, Harvey,” Hart finally said.

He grunted noncommittally.

Hart scooted his chair a fraction of an inch closer to Harvey. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you here. I wanted to thank you in person.”

Harvey kept his expression as neutral as possible. “Oh? For what?”

“For bringing that wonderful young man here.”

“Enjoying him are you?” Harvey had intended to sound careless and nonchalant, but the words hurt his insides even as he spoke them. It shouldn’t matter -- he didn’t _fucking_ want it to matter. Mike had chosen his path ( _a path you pointed out to him and prodded him down)_ , and he wasn’t Harvey’s problem. So what if he had lost too much time the last five days remembering the feel of Mike, the sounds he made, his goddamn _smell?_ He looked back at Hart to find him grinning at him as if he knew exactly what was going through Harvey’s mind. He gave Hart a bland smile back. “Good for you.”

“As a matter of fact, I was so impressed with the boy that I’ve decided to sponsor him with some of my friends.”

“Spectacular,” Harvey muttered around a mouthful of Scotch.

“And,” continued Hart, “if you stick around for a while, you might get to say hello to him.”

“He’s meeting you?” Harvey glanced around for Sylvia, deciding that he needed to get the fuck out of there _now_.

“Yes and no. Do you know George Fordnam? He’s over at the bar. The balding man in the Armani tux.”

Harvey glanced in the direction Hart had indicated, feigning disinterest. Fordnam was about six feet tall, with the thick build of an aging athlete, perhaps a football defensive lineman. His hair might be thinning, but his face was still handsome, in a broad, Nordic sort of way. “No,” he finally said. “We’ve never met.”

“I have to go speak to him, if you’d like an introduction. Today is his birthday, and I’ll give you one guess what I’ve gotten for his present.”

Harvey felt most of the air go out of him. “Mike.” He craned his neck toward the outside deck, searching for Sylvia. He needed to find her, to bid her good night, and get the hell out of the Empire Club. Part of him knew he was being uncharacteristically cowardly, that Harvey Specter never ran from...from what? From the delectable piece of ass whose phone number he had failed to get, and who had agreed to four more replays of last weekend? Because that was all Mike should mean to him -- _did_ mean to him. So why was he so eager to beat a hasty retreat?

As he was ordering himself to calm the fuck down, he saw Fordnam turn, saw Hart turn at the same time, saw several other men turn toward the elevators. With a mixture of curiosity and dread, he swiveled his chair around and felt his jaw drop.

“Oh my,” murmured Hart. “Now _that_ is a vision.”

Harvey agreed wholeheartedly, but he snapped his mouth shut and slammed the door on the confusing burst of emotion the sight had stirred up inside of him, slammed the door on everything except the cold anger he felt.

 

******

 

By Friday morning, Mike felt like he might be able to pull himself together enough to meet Lawrence Hart’s friend. None of the bruises were visible. They would be later, if Fordnam elected to take full advantage of his birthday present. He was staring dully in his closet, trying to decide what to wear, when someone buzzed him from downstairs.

He limped to the door and pushed the speaker button. “Yeah.”

“It’s me, Mikey.”

Trevor. The last person he wanted to see.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

“No can do. It’s about tonight. Your client had something delivered. Something for you to wear.”

Mike leaned his head against the wall, felt like pounding it repeatedly against the peeling paint. Instead, the pushed the button that unlocked the front door and opened his apartment door. Then he sat on his couch and checked his stash. Enough left to smoke a bowl now, and one more just before he left for his appointment. When Trevor pushed through his door carrying both a shopping bag and a garment bag, Mike’s lungs were filled with smoke. He looked up with watering eyes, stifled a cough and exhaled.

Mike eyed the box. “Do I even want to know?” he asked, remembering Hart’s toga, and the horrific blue dress Harvey had bought for him.

“Put down the pipe, Mike. You don’t want this stinking of weed.” He draped the garment bag over one of Mike’s chairs and unzipped it.

Inside was a knee-length black dress, made of what Mike guessed was satin. The bodice was a sleeveless halter style with a plunging neckline and a three inch band of something sparkly just underneath where his breasts would be if he had breasts -- the 3-D kind. A long slit ran up the center front, but didn’t make the dress appear cheap. In fact, to his untrained eye, the garment looked expensive and exceptionally well made. “Huh,” he said. “That’s nice. What’s in the other bag?”

“Dude,” said Trevor, starting to lay a series of items on the coffee table, “you are going to look _hot.”_

Mike didn’t want to be interested, wanted to toss Trevor out the window and show up for his “date” in ripped jeans and a dirty t-shirt, but he was intrigued in spite of himself. Trevor laid out a blonde wig, a pair of three-inch black Christian Louboutin shoes (even he recognized the distinctive red bottoms) with a subtle sprinkle of glitter across the toes, a small sparkly black purse, black lace panties, a padded black lace bra, black garter belt and sheer black stockings. “Wow,” he whispered, leaning over to run a careful finger across each item.

“And courtesy of some recommendations from Jenny....” He set a smaller bag on the table. A peek inside revealed a small fortune in high-end cosmetics.

“You bought these?” he asked, examining a tube of glossy pink lipstick. “Out of your own money, I hope.”

Trevor leaned back against the wall, looking smug. “Nothing but the best for my best girl.”

Mike gave an irritated chuff of laughter. “I’m not _a_ girl, much less _your_ girl.” He surveyed all of the bounty Trevor had delivered. “And why is it suddenly the consensus of the perv world that I belong in women’s clothing?” _And skirts in general,_ he thought, remembering the toga.

“Really?” Trevor laughed a little too loudly and a little too long. “I know said I didn’t want any details, but maybe I want a few after all.”

Mike picked up his pipe and lighter and sat back again, getting comfortable. “I’m taking it all to my grave, so you’ll just have to rely on your sad little fantasies.”

As Mike lit up, Trevor tutted like a fussy old woman, picking up the dress and waving away the fragrant smoke. “I’m going to hang this in your closet.” He left the room briefly, and when he returned, he stood across from Mike, hands on his hips. “Make sure that’s out of your system before tonight.”

“I will,” Mike lied. “Right now, I need my beauty rest. And if you feel the need to come by my place again, make sure you call first. Better yet, don’t come by.”

Trevor didn’t move, just stood there looking as if he was debating what to say. Finally, he sat on the chair across from Mike. “Look, like I told you before, I’m sorry about Tuesday night. Fucking Fortins. They never should have let that last guy up to your room.”

Mike exhaled and eyed Trevor blearily through the smoke. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. Ever. Now leave.”

“Mike -- ”

“It’s done. It’s over. I’ll heal.” He slammed pipe and lighter back onto the table and lay back, closing his eyes. “Leave.”

After a minute or so, he heard his front door close quietly.

 

After a nap and some lunch, Mike felt like he could begin to think about the coming evening. He was meeting Hart at the Empire Club, and would be introduced to his friend there, after which they would leave on their “date.” Judging by the dress and accessories provided, they must be going somewhere nice. He took a long shower, cleaning thoroughly and shaving the stubble which had sprung up on his legs in the past week. Then, unable to wait, he dressed himself in bra and panties, enjoying the feel of them clinging lovingly to his body as he set to work on his face. He took his time, making sure that the makeup was as perfect as he could make it, and when he sat back to eye himself critically in the mirror, he nodded slowly at his reflection. Not bad.

Next, he tried on the wig, and even he had to admit, it looked damn good. The color was a light honey blonde, with wispy bangs and fluffy layers that framed his face and brushed his shoulders. If not for his Adam’s apple and somewhat anemic looking bust, he could pass for a decent looking woman. Checking the time, he realized he needed to leave soon, so he took off the wig because Trevor, ass that he was, had been correct about one thing: Mike didn’t want to show up at the Empire Club reeking of weed. He waited until after he’d smoked the rest of his weed and had a nice buzz going before smoothing on the stockings and then sliding the dress over his head. It rippled down his body like cool, liquid silk.

He closed the door to his bedroom so could examine himself in the full length mirror on the back of his door. “Holy shit,” he whispered, eyes wide. The dress fit him perfectly. The combination of halter top, plunging neckline and high waist gave him the illusion of cleavage -- helped along by the padded bra. Below the wide, sparkly empire waist, the skirt flared slightly, falling to just above his knees, and slit up to mid-thigh, although the skirt was swirly enough that the slit was only visible when he moved. He turned around and craned his neck to see the back. Or lack of one. The halter left his back bare, down to the bottom of his spine, and clung to his ass just enough to show its outline. He took a couple of half-twirls just to see the movement of the skirt and feel the smooth, subtle weight of the fabric against his legs. To complete his look, he fitted the wig back on his head and used his fingers to arrange it just so.

He pursed his lips at himself, pulling a duck face, and whispered, “Hello, gorgeous.” The whole getup suddenly struck him as hilarious, and he began to giggle, and continued giggling as he stepped into the shoes, transferred his ID, some cash, lipstick and a compact with mirror into the sparkly little handbag. After thinking for a few seconds, he scrabbled in his nightstand for a couple of condoms and tossed those in. His bottle of lube was too big to fit in the purse, and he gave a mental shrug. If he wasn’t already dressed and needing to leave, he might have taken the time to prepare himself. As it was, he’d have to either rely on the client or just improvise if it came down to it.

Thinking about the client was an effective cure for his giggling fit. Aside from his acquaintance with Hart, Mike didn’t have a clue who this guy was and what he might expect -- well, maybe the dress was a significant clue, but aside from that, the night could go any number of ways. After his experience Tuesday night -- no, he wouldn’t think about that, not now, and perhaps not ever. In the two days since that humiliating and painful -- nope, _not thinking about it_. In the two days since then, he’d rationalized his way around to the idea that the night at the Baldwin had taught him about the hazards of the profession, and he could move forward a little wiser for it.

_Yeah. A helpful learning experience. You keep telling yourself that._

He called for a cab and went downstairs to wait. It was a chilly evening, but he didn’t have a coat to wear with his outfit that wouldn’t look completely ridiculous. He paced and shivered in front of the building, and thankfully the cab appeared promptly. He got in, smoothing the dress down over his legs, and ignored the driver’s amused glance in the mirror. As they pulled away from the curb, and he thought about the long evening ahead, he wished he had some Xanax to quiet his suddenly badly jumping nerves.

 

******

 

If Harvey hadn’t been expecting Mike’s appearance, he might not have recognized him. Gone was the slightly awkward young man he’d met at the interview, and gone was the naughty boy so eager to please, and the cheap slut in the minidress. In his (their) place was an elegant blonde creature in a designer dress that swirled and clung to his slender figure, wearing stiletto heels that Harvey suddenly envisioned jerking in the air behind his shoulders, occasionally scraping against his back, while he fucked his boy into the mattress.

But Mike wasn’t his tonight. Someone else had bought his services. In spite of that clear understanding, Harvey couldn’t seem to stop himself from following Lawrence Hart like a shadow as he walked over to greet Mike. And as Harvey came within a few feet of Mike, he froze, taking a closer, harder look.

The young man appeared to be a little unsteady in his heels. Although his makeup was flawless ( _and fucking hell, why hadn’t Harvey thought of that?),_ there was a tell-tale redness to his eyes, which were at nearly half-mast. Hart motioned George Fordnam over, and Harvey watched the introductions take place. Mike had not yet noticed his presence. Fordnam barely smiled, but his gaze raked Mike up and down with the air of a starving man being presented with his next meal.

And then Hart said, “And here’s someone you know already, sweetheart. I have to talk to George for a minute, so why don’t you two catch up?”

Just like that, Harvey and Mike were alone. Even though every person in the room seemed to be staring at Mike -- either with ill-disguised lust or with even more ill-disguised disapproval -- he stared at Harvey as if they were the only two people there. And then he gave a half-hysterical little hiccup of laughter before stopping it with fingertips placed daintily against his lips. “Wow,” he said, sounding more than a little spaced out. “It’s you. Hello, you.” He turned away, as if looking for someone, and wobbled a little. Harvey grabbed his arm. “Why thank you,” Mike simpered, playing up his latest role. Then he frowned at something he read in Harvey’s expression. “You look...constipated.” Another giggle, quickly stifled, escaped him.

Harvey was surprised by the depth of his own disappointment. “You’re high,’” he said, voice harsh. He let go of Mike’s arm and took a step back. He shouldn’t have been affected by the flash of hurt on Mike’s face, but he was, and that only made him angrier. “Descending into drugs already, are you? My god, Mike, you’re such a cliche. But I’d think a high priced whore like yourself would have a higher standard of professionalism.” Mike made a sudden movement, as if about to say something, but just then Harvey spotted Sylvia on her way back to him. “Have a nice evening, Mike. Be sure to play safely. Oh, and if I forgot to tell you last weekend, lose my number.” He was turning away, and didn’t see Mike’s expression, but clearly heard the pained gasp, as if Mike had just been gut punched.

“Harvey,” Sylvia greeted him. “There you are.” Her keen eyes flickered past Harvey to where he’d left Mike, and then back to Harvey. She gave him a chilly smile. “Isn’t that your young friend from the other day?”

Harvey smirked and rolled his eyes. “It is. Looks like he’s taken up with your stepson.”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “I’ll have to have a word with Lawrence about bringing his cheap little hustlers into the club. And _you_ Harvey.” She widened her eyes and gave him a playful swat on the arm. “I had no idea you were involved in... _that._ ”

“I’m not,” he said automatically, wincing at the lie. “Or rather, I was. Briefly. Let’s just say my expectations were disappointed and leave it at that.”

She waved her hand, seemingly unfazed. “It’s no concern of mine. We all have our little...indiscretions. Unlike _your_ generation, I believe it more prudent to keep certain things separate from one’s day to day life.”

Harvey smiled tightly. “You’re probably right. At any rate, I’m sorry to say I have to be on my way. I’ll call you next week about dinner.” He bussed her cheek and headed for the elevator, determined not to turn his head for one last look at Mike, or the way his dress molded to his ass when he walked. He managed it, just barely, but couldn’t avoid the sound of Mike’s manic laughter mingling with Fordnam’s filthy baritone guffaws.

Once on the elevator and out of sight behind the closed doors, he sagged against the back wall. What was it about that goddamn kid? It was stupid, irrational, and completely unlike him, but he couldn’t seem to get Mike out of his mind. He told himself he shouldn’t feel guilty, that it wasn’t his fault that Mike seemed determined to sell himself to the highest bidder.

What he needed was to get Mike out of his mind, and knew the best way to accomplish that. Charles Bradley was playing at a tiny, exclusive jazz club not far from _Birdland_. He’d treat himself to an obscenely expensive dinner and head over there to forget himself for a while in the music. And maybe while he was at it, he could find a warm body to spend a few hours with.

A palate cleanser. That’s what he needed.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a few tags.

George Fordnam had his hand on Mike’s back. It sat there like a big, sweaty slab of meat, fingers in constant motion, as if they couldn’t get enough of the feel of Mike’s skin. He laughed again at something Lawrence said, sounding like a cannon going off in Mike’s ear. He flinched, but smiled gamely, as if he was in on the joke -- whatever the joke had been.

They sat at the bar at the Empire Club. Mike reached again for his glass of water, trying to guzzle it down without seeming too obvious. Getting high had been a mistake. Luckily neither Hart nor Fordnam seemed to have noticed, and his encounter with Harvey had unnerved him enough that his nice, mellow buzz had all but vanished. And fuck Harvey anyway. He’d had no right to talk to him like that, to _dismiss_ Mike as if he was nothing.

Fordnam’s massive paw slid up to his shoulder, giving him a surprisingly gentle squeeze. “You doing okay, honey?” He had soft, syrupy southern accent that felt like balm on Mike’s nerves.

“Hm? Sure.”

“You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Mike took a deep breath. _Get it together._ “Just thinking.” He ran a finger up Fordnam’s arm and crossed his legs, letting the slit in the skirt fall open to expose his leg all the way up to his thigh.

“Yeah, honey?” Fordnam put a hand on Mike’s knee, stroked upwards and downwards with a light touch. “What are you thinking?”

“Oh, so many things.” Mike smiled vacuously and fingered the lapel of Fordnam’s beautifully tailored suit.

Hart was grinning at them, apparently pleased with his friend’s all too obvious appreciation of his birthday present. “I guess I should let you two get out of here. And before I forget....” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and plucked out a stack of hundred dollar bills. He folded them in half and handed the bundle to Mike. “This is for you, sweetheart. I want you to show my friend a nice time tonight. All right?”

“Yes, sir.” Mike clumsily shoved the money into his handbag. He gave Hart a bright smile.

“Good girl.” Hart held out his hand to Fordnam, and they shook. “Enjoy,” he said.

“You could join us,” Fordnam suggested, still holding Hart’s hand.

A long look passed between the two friends, leaving Mike feeling unsettled. He wondered if he should object, or perhaps ask for more money, but was saved from saying anything when Hart shook his head regretfully.

“Another time, maybe. Tonight is all about you. And you should feel free to take full advantage of this pretty little thing. He takes instruction well, and will do whatever you want. Oh, and Mike’s open to taking on more clients, so if you enjoy your night, you should consider passing him along to some of your friends. His phone number, that is.”

Fordnam stood up, helping Mike to his feet. “We’ll see. And thanks, Larry. Your taste, as always, is impeccable.”

Hart gave a negligent wave. “Happy birthday,” he called after them.

Mike glanced back once and saw Hart’s stepmother bearing down on him. She didn’t look happy.

 

Fordnam handed Mike into the limousine and scooted in beside him. “Just drive around a little, please,” he told the driver. “Uptown and through the park perhaps.”

The man nodded and the car pulled away from the curb. Fordnam touched a button and a thick, darkly tinted privacy barrier rose silently, and effectively cut them off from the front seat. Fordnam gave Mike a long, considering look and Mike smiled back at him, stomach fluttering with nerves.

“Mm,” said his date. “Such a pretty smile.” He touched a finger to Mike’s lower lip. His other hand stroked Mike’s knee. “So. A couple of things you need to know. I want you to behave like a perfect little lady. No, I know you’re all male, and I like that fine. But tonight you’ll be my little girl, all right?”

“Good little girl. Got it.”

Fordnam leaned in closer, his hand sliding up Mike’s leg to rest against his crotch. “What I mean,” he breathed against Mike’s neck, “is that I want you to be Daddy’s good little girl for me.” He ground the heel of his hand against Mike’s cock. “Mike? Do you understand?”

Feeling overwhelmed by the man’s closeness, by his massive body hemming him in, Mike dug his nails into the palms of his hand and squirmed under Fordnam’s hand. “I understand.” And then, feeling exceptionally silly, he added, “Yes, Daddy.”

This seemed to be exactly what Fordnam wanted to hear. He beamed at Mike, bent down and kissed him hungrily. Mike wanted to feel something, but the kiss, although skilled and thorough, did nothing for him. He let Fordnam have all the control, opened up and let his mouth be plundered by the thick, wet muscle of his tongue. After a small eternity, Fordnam pulled back, pupils dilated with excitement, pale blue irises barely visible.

“Turn around,” he panted.

Mike turned, and Fordnam wrestled Mike’s legs up onto the seat so that he was kneeling, face nearly pressed up against the side of the limo. Hands fumbled at the back of his neck and the top of the dress fell free. He gave Fordnam a questioning look over his shoulder.

“We don’t want to ruin your pretty party dress,” Fordnam said. He slid down the hidden zipper at the back of the dress and tugged it down past Mike’s hips and legs and feet and tossed it onto the seat facing theirs. “You’re going to be good for Daddy. Do what I tell you and no whining.” He braced one foot on the floor, turning so that he straddled Mike where he knelt on the seat. For a minute he just moved against Mike, rubbing his crotch against his ass. Mike could feel his hard cock throught the layers of fabric. It felt huge.

Fordnam shoved a hand down the front of Mike’s panties and squeezed Mike’s cock, hard enough that Mike gave a gasp of pain.

“Hush,” Fordnam whispered in his ear.

Cool air whispered against Mike’s bottom as his panties were dragged down his thighs. City lights flashed by the windows. Car horns sounded occasionally. Fordnam’s belt buckle clinked dully and Mike heard the leather slither free of its loops. He shut his eyes, and then snapped them open again when he felt himself pulled roughly backwards so that his face hit the seat, and his arms were pulled behind him.

“No!” The word burst out before he could stop it.

“Ssh, honey. Daddy’s not gonna hurt you. Hold still now. Stop struggling.” A huge hand slapped his ass hard. “Be still.”

The leather belt was wrapped around and around his wrists and Mike sagged, shoulder to the leather upholstery, eyes shut tight, teeth digging into his lower lip. Behind him, a zipper slid down and fabric rustled as Fordnam adjusted his trousers. A loud car horn sounded close by and the limo jerked suddenly as the driver braked hard. Mike would have tumbled to the floor, but Fordnam wrapped an arm around his middle, anchoring him to the seat. He felt Fordnam’s cock prodding his ass and thought longingly of the lube back on his nightstand, and the condoms in his purse. A thick finger stroked his entrance, pushing in a fraction of an inch. Mike whimpered and bit his lip harder to stop any further sounds from escaping.

“Do you like that? Baby?”

Mike gulped in air, trying to force his body to accept the dry penetration. “Y-yes. Yes, Daddy. Feels so good.”

The limo made a sharp turn and they both swayed. Fordnam removed his finger from Mike’s hole and reached across the seat, his weight pressing Mike down, putting a painful strain on his shoulders and bound arms, making it hard to breathe. All of a sudden the weight lessened as Fordnam sat back. Mike heard the welcome sound of a condom wrapper tearing, and a few seconds later, the slick liquid sound of Fordnam stroking lube onto his cock. Without further warning, a wet finger shoved inside of him. The preparation was welcome, but too quick, almost perfunctory, and was accompanied by Fordnam’s harsh, excited breathing in his ear.

“Are you ready for Daddy?” Teeth nipped lightly at his shoulder.

Mike took a deep breath, let it out slowly and spread his knees a little wider. “Fuck me, Daddy,” he whispered.

Fordnam pushed inside, slowly but inexorably, showing no mercy even as Mike whimpered and gasped. The man must be hung like a bull, and Mike felt as if he were being split apart. He endured it as long as he could and then hid his face against the leather seat, gritting out, “Stop. Please. It hurts.” Fordnam seemed not to hear him, so he tried again, a little louder. “Wait. I just need a second. You’re too big.” He felt hot tears prick his eyes. “Daddy,” he moaned, “please don’t.”

Finally, Fordnam paused, halfway in. He rubbed Mike’s back with one huge hand. “Take it, baby. Daddy will take care of you.” He reached around and gave Mike’s cock a couple of rough strokes. His other hand slipped inside Mike’s bra and pinched his nipple hard, twisting it almost cruelly. That did it, and Mike’s cock finally started to respond, growing hard under Fordnam’s touch. “You like that, baby?” He pushed the bra straps down and used both hands to tease and tweak and pinch. “Such a good girl. Let me in now, sugar.”

He flexed his hips and shoved in further. Mike winced and forced himself to push back, relaxing his muscles, and was rewarded when the pressure eased slightly, Fordnam slid all the way in, and Mike was _full_ , fuller than he’d ever been. It felt as if Fordnam had invaded his body, replaced Mike’s insides with his blood-swollen cock. “Oh, _god_ ,” he moaned.

The headlights of a passing car flashed across his closed eyelids. Fordnam ran a hand slowly down the back of his leg. Mike arched back into his huge body, stretched his leg out and felt the heel of his shoe hit the side of the car. “Daddy,” he whispered, shifting his shoulders and feeling the leather belt chafe at his wrists. “Fuck me. Please, fuck me.”

Fordnam started to move. Their positions inside the car were almost impossibly awkward, with Fordnam half off the seat, and Mike trussed up like he was. Fordnam pushed down on Mike’s back and then wrapped one arm around his hips, braced the other on the wall of the car and started ramming himself in, rutting against Mike with guttural grunts, moving Mike’s whole body with his thrusts, and Mike just went away for a while, drifted off and left his body behind on the limousine seat, with Fordnam pounding away at him and growling into his his ear about what a _goodtightbeautifulperfect_ girl he was.

Fordnam came, moving wildly and growling like a beast, then pulled out abruptly, leaving Mike half hard and staring at the seat his face rested upon, tracking the paths the trickles of salty water took as they rolled down the black leather and onto the floor.

 

When the limousine stopped in front of _L’Archer,_ Mike blinked dully and perked up just enough to be impressed. He would have had to work a month’s worth of overtime as a bike messenger in order to afford a meal here. Not that he would have wasted his money. His tastes tended towards the more simple and basic foods, not the fancy French stuff they served here.

“You’re gonna love this place, honey,” Fordnam said. “And you sure earned yourself a treat.” He cast a critical eye over Mike, straightening his dress a little, tugging it back down over his hips, and riffling his fingers through the blonde wig. Then he opened Mike’s purse and handed him the tube of lipstick. “You should freshen your makeup.”

“What?” Mike looked down at the tube of lipstick being thrust at him and took it from Fordnam. “Oh. Okay.” For a moment, he couldn’t think what to do. He remembered the compact and plucked it out of the purse, opened it, watched himself in the mirror as he applied the lipstick and dusted a little powder over his face. His mascara had smeared and he used the tip of his pinky finger to clean it off as well as he could. He looked over at Fordnam. “Do I look all right?”

“You’re beautiful, sugar.” He leaned down and kissed Mike’s forehead. “You ready for some dinner?”

“Yeah.”

Fordnam helped Mike out of the backseat. He tucked Mike’s hand into the crook of his elbow and escorted him through the front door of the restaurant. Inside, the lighting was low and the tables spaced well apart from one another. A jazz trio played softly in the corner, near a tiny dance floor. They were greeted at the door and immediately led to a secluded table close to a fireplace. It turned out to be a gas fireplace with fake logs, but Mike appreciated the warmth against his back. A chill had settled deep in his bones. He smiled across the table at Fordnam.

“You take my breath away,” said his date.

He seemed about to say more, but a waiter appeared to take their drink order. After a brief discussion, Fordnam settled on a bottle of some unpronounceable Chilean red wine. The bottle was opened and Fordnam sniffed and swished and slurped and finally found it “delightful. The sommelier left them in peace.

Fordnam picked up his menu. “Will you let me order for you, baby?”

Mike didn’t care, didn’t know if he was even hungry. But he nodded. “Yes, Daddy. Whatever you want.”

Mike took a sip of wine and his eyes widened. It really was good. He licked his lips and glanced up at Fordnam, to find him focused intently on Mike’s mouth. He seemed to be waiting for Mike’s reaction, so he nodded and murmured, “It’s nice.”

The waiter returned to take their order and Fordnam rattled off several items in French. He refilled Mike’s glass. The wine was relaxing him and the music started to seep into his awareness. His fingers tapped a syncopated counterpoint to the trio’s rhythms, and a he jumped when Fordnam’s hand suddenly clamped down on his.

“Would you like to dance?” Fordnam asked.

Mike glanced around. Most of the other tables were full, but no one else was dancing. He had no desire to become the center of attention, and most likely a source of curiosity and amusement. But what he desired didn’t matter. “Yes, Daddy,” he replied. He took Fordnam’s hand and let himself be led out onto the dance floor.

The big man turned out to be an excellent dancer. He skillfully guided Mike with a hand at the small of his back, his other hand holding Mike’s hand against his shoulder. After a few moments, Mike let himself relax in his arms, resting his head against Fordnam’s shoulder. His heeled feet moved as if of their own accord, easily following the cues of subtle pressure that Fordnam supplied. His skirt swirled decadently around his thighs and knees, and as the song ended, Fordnam thrust one leg between his and dipped Mike in a commanding way that had his head spinning a little.

And then they were back at the table and Mike did his best to ignore the covert and not so covert looks thrown their way by the other diners.

 

When the food arrived, Mike found he had an appetite after all, and that the food at _L’Archer_ was every bit as good as its reputation had suggested. Not that he could have named anything that he ate. When he’d finished, he patted his lips with his napkin and dropped it on his plate. “That was amazing,” he said, and it was probably the first truly honest sentence he’d uttered all night.”

Fordnam regarded him across the table. He’d drunk perhaps two glasses of wine to each of Mike’s one, and his eyes were bright with what Mike could only assume was rekindled lust. “I’m delighted that you enjoyed it.” He raised his hand to get the waiter’s attention. “Would you like some brandy, or something else perhaps?”

Mike froze up, unsure of what his answer should be. He hadn’t counted the bills Hart had slipped him, and wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been hired for. Seeing his hesitation, Fordnam decided for him.

“I have a better idea. Did you enjoy the music here?”

“Sure.”

“Then let’s have those drinks somewhere else. I know a great little place that always has wonderful music. How does that sound?”

Mike wondered what Fordnam would say if, just once, Mike disagreed with with. He didn’t test it, though, and smiled sweetly back. “Let’s go.”

 

On the ride over to the jazz club, Fordnam barely waited for the door to close before he dragged Mike into his lap and kissed him roughly. He ran his hands up through Mike’s hair and suddenly pulled the wig off his head, tossing it aside. “Get on the floor,” he ordered, following up the command with a shove to Mike’s shoulder.

Mike slid to his knees, in between Fordnam’s massive thighs. “Suck me,” Fordnam said, producing a cigar from his inside pocket and cracking a window open slightly. While Mike unbuckled his belt, unzipped him and fished out his huge, veiny cock, he leaned back into the comfortable leather seat and lit his cigar. Mike swallowed nervously and Fordnam took his hesitation as reluctance. His charming southern persona had evaporated somewhere between the restaurant and the car. He grabbed Mike by the hair and slapped his face lightly, the lit end of the cigar coming perilously close to Mike’s cheek. “Pay attention, slut.” He pulled on his hair and then shoved Mike’s face towards the tip of his cock. “Open up.”

Obediently, Mike stretched his mouth wide and Fordnam, holding his own cock in position, pushed Mike down onto it. Mike attacked it with his tongue, swirling and slurping. Fordnam finally let go, leaning back once more, taking leisurely puffs on his cigar while he kept an eye on Mike through slitted eyes. Mike held the base of his cock, bobbed up and down a few times, then concentrated on the cock head, licking the slit, softening his lips around the tip. Heavy smoke hung above his head. Fordnam made an approving little grunt of pleasure, inspiring Mike to run his tongue up and down the underside.

A satisfied sigh, and then another gust of smoke drifted past his face. “Think you can deep throat me? Not many can.” Fordnam sounded so smug that Mike nearly laughed, but thought better of it. The bastard was probably right. He knew he couldn’t do it, but that didn’t stop him from trying. Releasing the base of Fordnam’s cock, he took in a quick breath before enveloping it with his mouth, swallowing as he moved lower, convulsing his throat and struggling to defy his gag reflex. He was managing fairly well until Fordnam dug one hand into the hair at the back of his head and pushed him down, thrusting up at the same time. Mike choked, eyes watering. He couldn’t breathe, and the hand on his head wouldn’t let go. All he could do was take it, eyes wild and staring upwards, beseeching. His grew lightheaded and his vision started to darken. Just when he thought he would pass out, Fordnam pulled out, only to thrust forward again and repeat the process.

Through the roaring in his ears, he heard Fordnam order, “Touch yourself, sugar. Stick your hand down those pretty panties and make yourself come.”

Gasping in another fast breath before Fordnam’s cock choked him again, he reached underneath the dress and shoved his hand inside the panties and was surprised to find himself already rock hard. He was choking again, couldn’t breathe, and he jerked himself furiously, frantically, and he was aware of little more than the feel of his hand on his cock, twisting and thumbing and rubbing, and then he exploded with a silent scream around Fordnam’s cock, and kept jerking and rubbing and swallowing endless spurts of cum until the world faded completely.

 


	12. Chapter 12

“Drink, sugar. That’s it.”

Mike coughed, awakening to the taste and feel of whiskey burning his throat. He opened his eyes and pushed the glass away from his lips. Fordnam’s concerned blue eyes stared down at him and he realized that he was lying on his back, halfway in the other man’s lap. He tried to sit up, but strong hands held him down.

“What....” He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to remember what had happened.

Fordnam stroked a hand over Mike’s hair. “You are amazing.”

Mike’s throat hurt, and he suddenly remembered that it wasn’t from the whiskey. He renewed his efforts to sit, and this time Fordnam helped him until he was upright on the seat next to him. Mike felt drying cum between his thighs. The blond wig sat on the floor, hair fanned out around it. Fordnam kept an arm around his shoulder, plastering him to his side. Mike found himself fervently wishing that he would just stop _touching_ him. The limo slowed and came to a stop on a dark street.

“Should I stay close by?” asked the driver, and it was only then that Mike noticed the open privacy barrier, and realized that the driver must have witnessed everything that had just happened. One of the back windows was still cracked open but cigar smoke hung heavily in the air. The faint sounds of music drifted in.

“Please,” said Fordnam. “I probably won’t be too long.”

Mike’s brain finally kicked in. They were at the jazz club Fordnam had mentioned. His throat ached from Fordnam’s cock, his makeup was likely a mess, he’d just come like a nuclear blast in the midst of suffocating and passing out, and they were about to go inside, mingle with other people and listen to music. Wearily, he reached for the wig, thinking that he could at least retain this one scrap of dignity -- if one considered wearing a woman’s wig dignified -- but Fordnam pried it gently from his hand.

“Leave it,” he said. “You look lovely just like that.”

“Okay,” Mike said, and his voice came out so hoarse that he took the glass of whiskey back gratefully when Fordnam offered it to him, and drank the rest of it in one gulp. The fiery liquid warmed his insides enough that he felt able to sit up further and reach for his purse. He peeked in his compact mirror and was surprised that he didn’t look as much of a mess as he felt. He finger-combed his shaggy hair, used the back of his hand to scrub away the tear tracks on his cheeks and the black rivulets of mascara, applied more powder, freshened his lipstick, and hoped the club was dark enough to conceal the weird, shell-shocked look in his eyes.

A small sign bolted to the side of the building was the only indication that a jazz club resided there -- that and the funky, smoky, dirty music drifting out onto the sidewalk. Mike felt unsteady on his heels, and held tightly to Fordnam’s arm as they descended a flight of stairs and entered the dim interior. A muted buzz of conversation spilled out, mingling with the music. Mike squinted, but could see little in the dark, and followed blindly beside the other man as he pushed his way through tables and groups of people standing and moving their bodies to the music.

They ended up at the bar, which proved to be an oasis of calm in the frenetic atmosphere. They slid onto the two empty stools at the end of the bar and Mike slumped, leaning on his elbows, aware all of a sudden of how tired he was. He desperately wanted a beer or three, but managed a wan smile when Fordnam ordered him a cosmopolitan. At this point, any alcohol would do. He drank greedily.

“You know,” he said, when the glass was one-third full, “I really need to visit the little -- ” _Boy’s room? Girl’s room?_ “The restroom.”

Fordnam, who was checking his watch, nodded absently. Mike headed off down a narrow hallway, at the end of which he stood debating, for much longer than necessary, which door to enter. “Fuck it,” he finally muttered and pushed opened the door to the men’s room. Two other men were using the urinals. One shot him a brief look and and gave a huff of laughter before returning his attention to taking a piss. The second man swayed while he gamely tried to direct his stream into the porcelain bowl. Acting as casual as was possible under the circumstances, Mike clicked across the floor on his Christian Louboutins and positioned himself at the urinal between the two other me. He made no eye contact, just lifted up his skirt, freed his dick from his black lace panties and proceeded to relieve himself.

After shaking himself off and putting his clothing back in order, he turned to the sinks. He would have loved to grab a wad of paper towels and scrub the cum off of his thighs, but wasn’t about to do that in front of the two men. He washed his hands and settled for rinsing out his mouth a few times. Another man entered and Mike didn’t even bother looking up to see what his reaction might be to his appearance. He was so over the whole drag thing by now. He wanted to go home, wash his face, shower, slip into a pair of sweatpants and a favorite t-shirt, maybe watch _Law and Order_ reruns until he could fall asleep.

That thought reminded him that he still didn’t know how long he was obligated to stay with Fordnam. Not wanting to display his money in front of three strangers, he entered one of the stalls and locked the door behind him. He pulled out the thick stack of hundred dollar bills and counted them out. Five thousand dollars. He’d been asked to meet Fordnam at the Empire Club at 7:00, although he’d arrived a little early, so it looked as if his evening with Fordnam ended at midnight.

That struck him as funny. At midnight the ball was over and he turned back into -- whatever he’d been before. He was no longer completely certain what that had been. Not that it mattered. The main thing to remember, he decided, was _not_ to leave any discarded shoes behind as clues to his true identity.

Especially since the particular shoes he was wearing were definitely keepers.

He’d heard a couple of flushes while inside the stall. Hoping that he was alone, he opened the door slowly to find himself being stared at by a hard looking man in faded jeans, a well-cut suit jacket, black t-shirt and worn cowboy boots. He was sitting on the sink counter and casually toying with something between his fingers.

A twenty dollar bill.

“You lost?” the man asked. “Looks like you got the wrong room.”

“Nope,” said Mike, doing his best to appear friendly and non-threatening while also pretending he didn’t see the money the man held. “I’ve got all the right equipment.” The man continued to stare as if amused. “Oh, what, this?” Mike plucked at his dress as if just remembering it. “I...uh...a friend....I lost a bet.”

The other man nodded is if digesting that. “So...how much?”

Mike’s brow wrinkled. He knew what the man meant, but his mind couldn’t quite process that he was being solicited in the men’s room while his current john waited for him at the bar, that this is what his life had become in such a short span of time. He started to protest, to tell the man no, but before he could open his mouth the man slid off the counter and stepped forward, too close, seeming to tower over Mike, and held the money out, right in front of his nose. “Twenty bucks,” he said, and it was a statement, not a question, “to suck my dick.”

 

******

 

Harvey had spotted them as soon as they walked in the door. It was a ridiculous coincidence, having Mike show up at his favorite spot, but there was almost a sense of inevitability about it as well, as if Fate, that ruthless bitch, was having a hearty laugh at Harvey’s expense. He studied the pair from across the room.

Fordnam had his arm around Mike’s waist and Mike leaned into him as if it had become difficult to move on his own. The dress still swirled and clung to him seductively, his black-stockinged thighs still played hide and seek behind the slit. His wig had gone missing and his hair looked rumpled and a little flat on one side. He’d taken the trouble to apply his lipstick as carefully as ever, but black smudges circled his eyes, making him appear exhausted and fragile. Harvey’s gaze followed them until they found seats at the far end of the bar, Mike sitting next to the wall with Fordnam’s body effectively blocking him from view.

Time to go home, Harvey told himself. Time to go home alone, since nobody at the restaurant or in the club had interested him in the least.

He downed his scotch, hesitated, and signaled for another.

Turning deliberately away, he did his best to lose himself in the music again, to forget about what he could be having tonight if he had only said the word last weekend, had admitted how good it had been between them, how hard he’d come every single time he took Mike. He shook his head as if fending off annoying gnats. Great sex was all well and good (very, _very_ good), but he’d be an idiot to risk his reputation by getting entangled in all of the kid’s drama. He’d already been made to look foolish in front of a client, and that could not be repeated.

A figure in a swishy black dress entered his peripheral vision, and he turned his head even as his pulse accelerated crazily. A leggy brunette stood next to his table, a martini dangling between pale fingers accented with purple nails.

“It’s crowded tonight,” she said, gesturing around the room with her drink and spilling a good portion of it on the floor and splashing Harvey’s shoe. “Mind if I join you?”

“Uh.” It most definitely wasn’t disappointment that rendered him suddenly incoherent. He started to deny her the seat, but then let his gaze wander up and down her toned curves, reconsidering. He looked past her to the bar and saw the back of Mike as he disappeared down the hallway that led to the restrooms. Gesturing at the empty chair across from him, he said, “Be my guest.”

The woman smiled toothily and pulled forward another young woman who had been hidden behind her. “He says it’s okay.” The first woman sat in the vacant chair, leaving her friend standing awkwardly at her side

Harvey stared, waited two beats and then stood up and grabbed his drink. “Enjoy the show,” he said, raising the glass in a mock toast. Their evil girl-giggles followed him as he stalked away.

Definitely not his night.

He might have left right then, but he had a fresh drink in his hand and the band was excellent, the singer one of his favorites, so he wedged himself into an open spot at the bar, leaning on one elbow and propping a foot on the brass rail near the floor. _Eyes on the stage,_ he instructed himself firmly. But it was too easy to turn his head a tiny bit to see George Fordnam, who looked sloshed, and smug and increasingly impatient. Harvey looked toward the back hallway, back at Fordnam, and frowned. Mike had been gone a while.

He savored another sip of Scotch. Then, defying every instinct he possessed, he set the glass carefully on the bar top, straightened up, and headed down the hallway towards the men’s room.

He heard Mike’s yell before he even had his hand on the door. No words, just a an angry yelp of pain. Followed by another. He pushed the door open, and there was Mike, backed up against the paper towel dispenser, which evidently was motion activated, because every time the enraged man whose hand clutched Mike’s hair shook him, and Mike slammed into the dispenser, another sheet of rough brown paper drifted to the floor.

“Hey!” Harvey barked out, striding forward.

The man didn’t turn, just growled, “Not your business,” and shoved Mike to his knees, other hand still clutching his hair. Harvey grabbed his shoulder and pulled hard. The man stumbled backwards, letting go of Mike, but not before the boy had toppled forward. Harvey ignored him for the moment as he faced off against Mike’s attacker.

They sized each other up. The man was about Harvey’s height, and he judged that he could take him in a fight if necessary. He didn’t want it to come to that. So he took a step back, holding out his hands. “Don’t be stupid. Just walk away.”

The man’s expression was equal parts frustrated and perplexed. “The fuck do you care? Look at him. He’s just a cheap little fag whore. And I did offer to pay.”

Harvey turned slightly to see that Mike had struggled to his feet, and appeared dazed, off-balance. Hating himself a little, Harvey asked Mike, “Did you agree to said payment?”

Wounded blue eyes found Harvey, widened and grew harder. “No,” he said flatly, voice barely more than a rasp.

Harvey took a step towards the man, who edged away in the direction of the door. “Well, there you go. I’m no lawyer....” Harvey paused. “Oh, wait, yes I am. I know a little about the law, and to me this looks a lot like sexual assault.” He held up his phone. “Should I call a representative from the NYPD down here to give us a second opinion?”

“Screw you,” said the nameless man, shooting them both a hateful look, and then he was out the door and Harvey was alone with Mike.

Harvey opened his mouth to speak, but Mike beat him to it. “You didn’t have to do that. I could have handled it.”

Anger flared in Harvey’s chest, but then he took a closer look at Mike. He was shaking with reaction, and couldn’t seem to meet Harvey’s eyes. He looked about five seconds away from toppling to the floor. “Mike,” he said softly, “what the hell are you doing?”

Mike crossed his arms, holding his ridiculous little handbag close to his chest. “Making a living.” He gave a hoarse laugh. “Fulfilling my destiny?”

“Bullshit,” Harvey spat out. He started to pace. The door opened and Harvey snapped, “We’re busy.” Whoever it was went away. “God, Mike, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

Harvey stopped pacing and faced a startled Mike. “For putting the stupid idea in your head that this was a good way to make money. And this is _not_ your destiny. Don’t you _ever_ say that. You’re better than this, and you should show yourself some more goddamn respect.”

Mike appeared to have recovered some of his equilibrium as he straightened up and pointed a finger at the door. “That was one guy. One jerk. You think I was never propositioned in a men’s room before I met you? That I never got handled a little too roughly by some idiot? Get over yourself, Harvey. I don’t need a...a...knight in shining armor. I can fucking take care of myself.” He lifted an edge of his skirt with two fingers and let it drop again. “Appearances to the contrary, I am not a girl. I’m not helpless. And, and, what are you even doing here? No. Never mind. I don’t need to know. If you’ll excuse me, I have a client -- a very well-paying client -- waiting for me to finish our date.”

He made as if to brush past Harvey, but Harvey grabbed his arm and pulled him close. The glared at one another, faces inches apart, both of them angry and breathing hard. It crossed Harvey’s mind for a split second to lean in and kiss Mike, but he was stopped by thoughts of where Mike’s mouth had been recently -- and by the sheer idiocy of such an impulse. Instead, jaw so tight he could barely get the words out, he whispered, “Leave him here and let me take you home.”

Mike’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?” When Harvey didn’t answer -- couldn’t answer because he himself couldn’t fathom the reason behind his request -- Mike yanked his arm free and moved carefully away. “Why should I? You’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t care about me. You told me to lose your number, and I did. What’s your problem? Is it just that you don’t like the other boys playing with your toys?”

“You’re in over your head, Mike. You’re swimming with the sharks but you’re too naive to see it.”

Mike gave that awful, hoarse little laugh again. “Said the head shark to the guppy.

Harvey had nothing to say in reply to that. He fished one of his cards out of his pocket, and tucked it into Mike’s bra. Mike snatched it out and stared first at it and then at Harvey.

“What’s this? You want back on the schedule?”

Harvey put one hand on the door handle. “When you start to drown -- and I have no doubt that you will -- give me a call.”

As he walked out of the room, Mike’s mocking voice followed him. “Admit you care, and maybe I will.”

Out in the hallway, unseen by Mike, Harvey shook his head in denial. The kid didn’t know what he was talking about. He didn’t care. Not in the least. Still, as he stood near the entrance, just before he exited the club, he kept watch on the far corner to make sure that Mike made it safely back to Fordnam.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Before he left the men’s room, Mike pulled out his cell phone to check the time. It was just after eleven, and he had three missed calls from Trevor. He sneered at the screen. For a guy who was collecting ten-percent of Mike’s earnings, so far he seemed utterly worthless. He hadn’t been anywhere nearby, watching Mike’s back tonight -- or at the Baldwin Hotel last Thursday. It had fallen to Harvey just now to come to Mike’s rescue.

Mike shivered, remembering that moment, the sudden thrill of recognizing Harvey, followed immediately by the humiliation of the state in which he’d been discovered. He forced thoughts of Harvey out of his mind, telling himself he didn’t need the distraction, that what he needed was to get back out to his date and finish up the night.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he blew out a breath. _Less than an hour to go._

 

Fordnam appeared annoyed when Mike made his way back up to his side, and also to have reached that volatile level of intoxication where anger, melancholy and maudlin affection were all equal possibilities.

“Where the hell have you been?” His gaze raked over Mike as if searching for any new signs of wear and tear.

Not wanting to end the evening on a sour note, Mike pressed close behind him, put an arm around Fordnam’s chest and leaned in to nuzzle his neck. “Awww….Did Daddy miss me?”

Fordnam gave an irritated growl, peeled Mike’s arm from around his neck and pushed him away until Mike was forced to retreat, sitting on his own bar stool. “Enough of that,” Fordnam growled.

Mike held up one hand, shaking his head. “Sorry.” He reached for the drink he had left on the bar and pretended to be deeply interested in it. He must have let some of his own irritation show, because after a few moments, Fordnam reached over and rubbed one big hand back and forth over Mike’s upper back in an effort to soothe him.

“It’s not you, sweetheart,” he told Mike. “I’m just disappointed because I have to cut our evening short. I was going to ask you to stay the night, but my wife called while you were gone.”

Mike raised an eyebrow at that.

Fordnam sighed, mood suddenly tipping over into melancholy. “She thought it would be a wonderful idea to return early from visiting her sister and surprise me on my birthday. It seems she’s been sitting at home with a cake and a bottle of champagne since eighty-thirty.”

“Well,” Mike began, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. He polished off his cosmopolitan.

“So,” continued Fordnam sadly, “I’m going to have to leave you here.” He pulled out his wallet and left a few bills on the bar top to pay for their drinks.

Mike tensed up at that news. An early night was great, but he had no desire to be left alone and looking like easy pickings for any vultures lurking nearby. He opened his mouth, and then clicked it shut. He’d been on the verge of asking Fordnam for a ride home, but according to Trevor, that was a big no-no. Never let the john know where you live. So instead, he ran a finger up and down the big man’s arm and asked, “Call me a cab?”

Fordnam smiled. “Sure thing, sugar.” He captured Mike’s hand in both of his and raised it to his lips. “I had one hell of a good time tonight, baby. To tell you the truth, I thought Larry was a little nuts when he mentioned how much he spent for you, but you were worth every penny.” He leaned closer, whispering intimately in Mike’s ear, “I have to see you again. My god, boy, you could suck the paint off a fence post.”

Mike was digesting that odd image when Fordnam let go of his hand, and so he it took him a moment to realize that he now held a bundle of neatly folded hundred dollar bills that the other man had slipped to him. “Thank you...George,” he said, and stuffed the bills in his purse without counting them. He dug around for one of the business cards Trevor had had made up earlier that week. Only his first name and Trevor’s phone number were printed on the card. “Talk to my manager,” he said, handing it to him.

Fordnam stood up. “Oh, I will. But next time I believe I’ll get us a room somewhere nice so I can have you all to myself.” He glanced around, shrugged, and bent down to give Mike a thorough, wet, and completely unappealing kiss.

Mike endured it as long as he could before pulling away and patting Fordnam’s bicep. “Better get home to your wife while it’s still your birthday.”

Fordnam straightened up and gave Mike a sad, lop-sided smile. “I’ll have my driver call you that cab.” He threw another twenty onto the bar. “Have yourself another drink while you wait.” He ruffled Mike’s hair and then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd.

Mike slumped, all of his nervous energy deserting him at once.

 

Mike waited until he was home and clean and settled in on his couch watching Jack McCoy lose another case before he called Trevor. The first thing out of his mouth, before Trevor even had a chance to finish saying hello was, “Where the hell were you?”

“Whoa. Slow down. I tried calling you. You should have kept your phone on. But hey, if you need me to keep closer tabs on you, we could always take you to the vet and have you chipped.” He laughed at his own joke. The high-pitched giggle told Mike that Trevor was high.

“Yeah, ha ha. My life is so fucking hilarious. If you care, the night went fine, and it looks like I’ve got another repeat customer, so expect a call. His name is George.” He started to ring off when Trevor spoke again.

“I’ll be over early tomorrow, so make sure you’re awake.”

“What for? I told you, I don’t want you here.”

“To collect my commission.”

Mike gave a groan that turned into a yawn. “What are you now, an insurance salesman? Might as well call it what it really is: your blackmail money.”

“Life on the streets has made you cynical, Mikey.”

“Fuck you.” And Mike hung up the phone.

It rankled, the figurative gun that Trevor had to his head. He yawned again. He was too tired to think about it right now, but there had to be a way to get rid of the anchor that was Trevor. He filed the problem away for future contemplation and lay down on the couch. He was asleep within minutes.

 

******

 

Contrary to Harvey’s prediction, Mike didn’t drown. His life settled into a sort of routine. Monday afternoons he spent with Lawrence Hart, playing the part of his favorite slave boy, getting well-spanked and fucked hard. It turned out that Hart was not all that imaginative, but Mike had to hand it to him: he really owned his role as emperor, and Mike became skilled (he flattered himself) at playing his part and creating new scenarios for them to act out. He had discovered that he really enjoyed being spanked (really, _really_ enjoyed it), and took it as his own personal challenge to come up with his “transgression of the week,” in order to give Hart an excuse to break out the paddle.

Following their second session together, Hart surprised Mike by inviting him to stay for dinner, and after that it became part of their ritual for Mike to shower, change back into his street clothes, and join Hart in the dining room. The food was always excellent, and they talked about anything and everything.

Mike opened up a little bit about his past, but was reluctant to say too much, and Hart told amusing stories about his family and acquaintances in the upper echelons of New York society. It turned out he didn’t possess many close friends. Mike decided Hart was lonely, and truthfully, Mike felt the same way at times. He couldn’t exactly count Trevor as a friend anymore, and he avoided Jenny, since he knew she would see through him in a second and it would hurt her to know what he had become.

He hadn’t been to see Grammy since before he first met Harvey. Even more than Jenny, she could read Mike like a book. He talked to her on the phone at least once a week, and told her he was too busy at his new job to get away. She was always disappointed, but didn’t push the issue.

So he looked forward to those dinners with Hart, during which they were just Mike and Larry, and enjoyed their easy, often amusing conversation, especially after the man stopped trying to pay him for that extra hour of time. Every now and then, Hart brought up Harvey, gently pressing Mike for details on how they met, and what Harvey was like outside of his suits and lawyer persona. When Hart tried to steer the discussion in that direction, Mike changed the topic, and eventually Hart must have gotten the message because he stopped asking.

 

George Fordnam preferred early evenings, usually mid-week, when he could tell his wife he was working late. He always booked them a room at a hotel that was nice, but not top of the line. He’d usually arrive with accessories and clothing he wanted Mike to model for him. Mike let himself be tied up and gagged and penetrated with all manner of toys. Fordnam never hit him, or asked to whip or cane or paddle him, but when he fucked him, he rode him hard, verging on brutal, using his cock as a weapon.

Fordnam loved to fuck his throat and Mike let him.  He became skilled at deep-throating the big man, and if it too often ended in near suffocation, he couldn’t deny that his orgasms were mind-shattering.  At the same, it scared the hell out of him, that loss of control, that sensation of riding the thin edge between ecstasy and extincton, and not knowing completely which way you were going to fall.  As time went on, he started to care less and less, and that scared him the most of all.

At home, he stocked up on butt plugs, and tea and lemon and honey.

 

Fordnam never referred Mike to any of his friends, and Mike figured it was because he had a wife at home to deceive, and didn’t feel he could trust anyone with his dirty little secret. Hart was a different story. He took it as a point of pride to send business Mike’s way, sort of as if he had discovered a trendy new restaurant or microbrew about which he wanted to spread the word. Most of these referrals were either one shots, or occasional repeats, and most of the time their tastes ran to the tame. A suck, or a fuck, or a tepid spanking were enough to satisfy them. Every now and then, one of them had Mike spank him, or asked to be dominated. Mike did his best, but that sort of thing wasn’t his forte.

Very rarely, he ran into someone who was angry with the world or with their place in it, and needed a warm body to take it out on. After one of those nights, Mike would let Trevor know not to take their calls again. He tried to tell himself that this gave him control, but the bruises those men left behind, and the chunks of his soul that they took with them...well, whatever.  Life was a trade-off, right?

Often, the referrals from Hart who became semi-regulars had him accompany them out for the evening, to the opera or symphony or to a fundraiser for some disease Mike had never heard of and couldn’t pronounce. It was about fifty-fifty whether they wanted him in a tux or a dress, so he purchased a selection of both. Once or twice, he caught sight of Harvey in the crowd, but made sure to stay well away from him.

 

It took a little over a week -- and he still couldn’t quite believe that was all -- to earn enough money to pay the deposit for Grammy’s nursing home. He mailed off the cashier’s check with a sense of relief, and then spent the next few days agonizing about whether or not to keep his clients and his new profession. He’d been telling Trevor it was only temporary, but the amount of money he was making amazed him.

When he received the bill for Grammy’s next quarterly payment, his mind was made up for him. He called Freddy at the messenger company, and after getting his ear chewed off for disappearing on them and not calling in, he told Freddy he quit, and that was that.

Between Hart and Fordnam and his other clients, Mike was kept busy, and he was easily clearing ten thousand per week (minus Trevor’s cut). Rent and monthly expenses, plus Grammy’s bills, were covered, and he had plenty left over to stick in the bank. He could have moved to a nicer place, could have upgraded his bike, could have eaten out every night if he wanted to. Instead, he squirreled the excess money away.

The only extravagance he indulged in was to join a nice gym near home, and he worked out nearly every day, hired a trainer to introduce him to the weight machines and to instruct him in free weights. He made it a point not to bulk up, just to tone and strengthen his muscles. He knew part of his appeal to many of his clients was his boyish appearance, but he had felt too vulnerable lately, and needed to feel that if flight wasn’t an option, he could hold his own in a fight.

His trainer suggested he take up boxing or some sort of martial arts.  He signed up for a taekwondo class, but ended up missing it so often because of his uncertain work schedule, that the instructor refunded most of his fees and told him to come back when he could take the class seriously.

His life wasn’t awful. He was meeting new people, having all the sex a red-blooded young man could want -- and more -- and saving money for his future. He hadn’t decided what that future would be, but anytime somebody new asked for a standing weekly appointment, Mike made sure Trevor scheduled it for either the evening or on the weekend. Because...well, because a tiny embryo of a plan had begun to form in the back of his mind.

 

The one thing that irritated Mike on a daily basis -- more than once on most days -- was Trevor. He continued to take Mike’s money, acted as if he _owned_ him, and never failed to make Mike feel exactly like the whore that he was. He needed to cut him loose, but that damn gun was still aimed at Mike’s head. So he finally came to the painful decision that the only thing he could do was to take away the gun.

He went to see Grammy.

He waited until she was well settled in her new home, had hung pictures on her walls, placed begonias on her window sill, made friends with her neighbors, become surrogate grandmother to half the staff. It wasn’t fair, he knew.  It was, in fact, the dirtiest of dirty pool. But he needed her to accept the truth and not do anything foolish like leave.

He went to see her on a Monday morning, closed her door, and told her everything. He started with the briefcase full of pot, and ended with an entreaty. “Please, Grammy. Please don’t hate me for this. And please don’t feel guilty. I owe you so much. I’d do anything for you. I wanted to do this. And it’s easy money. I like it -- ”

She slapped him.

And then she turned to the window and started to cry, shredding a tissue between her hands as she sobbed. He allowed her her grief, leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed, his chest aching as she slumped in her doily-draped armchair and cried out her disappointment in him, and cried for the loss of the little boy she had raised, and cried out her hatred of the world and how cruel it could be to the people she loved.

When her sobs slowed to sniffles, Mike walked over and sat on her bed, leaning toward her to hand her a fresh tissue. She blew her nose and glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?  Why are you telling me now?”

Anger was better than tears, and more like the Grammy he knew, although he preferred the anger to be directed at someone besides himself. “Because I knew what you would say. What you would do.”

She hmph’d. “You played me, you little shit.”

Mike sighed and grabbed her hands. “I did. I’m sorry for that. But it’s too late now for you to leave here. I’ve already paid for the next six months.”

She gave him a shrewd look. “That’s a lot of money Michael. How good could you be?”

He laughed at that. “No way, Grammy. Do not go there.”

She folded her hands in her lap and sat back. “So.  Is this going to be a long-term situation?”

He couldn’t meet her eyes then. “I plan on continuing, yes. But....” He almost didn’t want to say it out loud, to admit to the hope he’d been hoarding, and maybe tempt fate and jinx the whole thing. But he owed her some hope after that awful shock to her system. “I’m saving most of the money. And I’ve been thinking about going back to school.”

On any other day, that announcement might have elicited a shout of joy from her, but today she just nodded and said, voice soft and sad, “That’s good, Michael.”

They sat there together for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, when she suddenly said, “You never answered my second question.”  At his blank look, she clarified, “I asked you why you were telling me now.  You didn’t have to.  But you did.  I’m glad you did.  Truth is always so much better than lies.  But you probably could have gotten away with the lie if you’d wanted to.  Why the confession?”

He thought about how to answer that.  “There’s someone who knows.  And that someone threatened to come to you and tell you if I didn’t.  And, well, there was blackmail involved.  I couldn’t continue down that road, and I figured the truth would be better coming from me than from hi – from that person.”

She made a scoffing sound.  “Trevor.  It always comes down to him, doesn’t it?”  Her expression darkened.  “Did he get you started in all of this?”

“No!  No, Grammy, I managed this one all on my own.”  Sort of.  Except that Harvey had been the one to give him the idea.

“Well, he’s no friend if he’s profiting off of your….”  She waved a hand dismissively, mouth pursed in distaste.  “Do you see now, Michael?  Do you see what he is?”

“Don’t worry.  We’re having this painful discussion precisely because I know I need to cut him out of my life.”

“And he’ll be gone now?  No more forgiving and forgetting?”

He smiled at her.  “No forgiving, and forgetting has never been my problem, has it?”

“No, I suppose not.”  She sighed, forced an answering smile, and said, “Now find those cards in my dresser.  I want to kick your ass in gin rummy.”

“In your dreams.”

And after that, they were fine, although neither brought up his line of work ever again.

 

That night at dinner, Hart brought up the question of photographing Mike again.  Mike paused with a forkful of porcini mushroom risotto halfway to his mouth.

“I don’t know, Larry.  I’m not sure I’d want something like that out there.”

“Like what, sweetheart?  I like to think it’s rather tasteful, erotic photography.  Nothing too graphic.  And I would promise never to share anything online.  It’s not even digital.  I’m old-fashioned.  I only use film, and I develop it myself.”

“Well….”  Mike wanted to say no, but didn’t want to hurt Hart’s feelings.

“Look, what if I promised not to show your face?  Or to leave it in shadow?  We could take some test shots.  After you see them, if you object to anything I’ve done, I’ll destroy everything, negatives and all, right in front of you.”  He put a hand over Mike’s, squeezing.  “Please?  I can almost guarantee you’ll be pleased with the results.”

“Hm.”  Mike took a sip of wine.  “Would it be during our regular time together?”

“No.  Totally separate.  And you’d be paid the same hourly rate.”  He waited, giving Mike some time to think.  “Mike?  Please say yes.”

“All right.  On one condition.”

Hart was smiling broadly.  “Just name it.”

“I still get spanked.”

Hart laughed, genuinely amused.  “And here I thought you were going to ask for something difficult.  I will be delighted to meet your request.”

They set it up for Thursday morning.

 

When Mike left Hart’s place after dinner, he didn’t head home.  Instead, he directed the cab driver to Trevor’s address.  This was a conversation he’d been looking forward to, and he wasn’t going to have it over the phone.

Trevor let him in, and when Mike stepped into his apartment, he took note of the new, enormous television, the towering stack of video games, the brand new couch of buttery soft leather, and the espresso maker in his kitchen that had to have cost a few hundred dollars.  It looked as if Trevor had been enjoying his windfall funds.  Mike wished he could take a baseball bat to the entire apartment.

“You didn’t have to come by in person,” Trevor said.  “But I’m glad you did.  Let’s get high and play some games.”

Mike grimaced.   The phrase, “let’s play some games,” had taken on a whole new meaning in his life lately.

“I can’t stay,” he said.

Trevor turned away, shrugging.  While his back was turned, Mike snagged the small burner phone from off of the kitchen counter and stuffed it in his back pocket.

“That’s cool,” Trevor was saying.  He turned back, gave Mike a suspicious look, and held out his hand, palm upward.  “I’ll just take my cut, then.”

“I don’t think so.”

Trevor’s smile didn’t falter.  “You don’t _think_ so?  What’s this?”

“This is me telling you to go fuck yourself.”

“Uh uh.  Have you forgotten our agreement, Mikey?  You keep doing your job like a good little whore, and I keep collecting, or I have nice conversation with your grandmother.  Pretty simple.”

“Too late, Trevor.  I went to see Grammy today.”

That gave him pause.  A little less certain, he said, “You’re lying.”

Mike shrugged, feeling a little of the weight that had been crushing him lift and float away.  “Call her if you don’t believe me.  But be prepared for some pretty disturbing language coming out of an elderly woman’s mouth.  And if I find out you’ve been harassing her, I might have to give Jenny a call.  How do you think she’d feel about your latest money-making scheme?”  This last was a pure bluff, but based on Trevor’s reaction, one that worked.

He moved too quickly for Mike to avoid, backing him up and slamming him into the wall.  “You keep away from Jenny.  Say one word to her and I will fucking _end_ you.”  He placed a threatening hand on Mike’s throat, exerted some pressure.  “So you’re not going to pay me, huh?  What good are you then?”

Mike started to struggle, and Trevor cracked his head against the wall.  He replaced the hand restraining Mike’s throat with a hard forearm and grabbed his crotch with his other hand.  Mike bucked wildly, but had nowhere to go, and despite his new, toned muscles, he was still no physical match for Trevor.  “Get the fuck off me,” he grated.

“What’s the matter Mikey?”  Trevor ground his crotch against Mike’s.  “You only put out anymore if you’re getting paid?”  He clamped a hand on each of Mike’s wrists and held them against the wall, above Mike’s head.  “What those men pay you…what they must do to you.  It’s sick.  You’re sick.  Tell me, is there anything you won’t do for the right amount of cash?”  He leaned his head down to suck on Mike’s neck and then bit down hard.

Mike gasped at the pain.  “Yeah?”  Rising panic gave his voice a sharp edge.  “So what does that say about you?  You weren’t complaining yesterday about how I earned my money.”

“Shut up, Mike.  You’ve never been able to take me in a fight, so just shut up while I take my farewell shot at that thousand dollar ass.” 

He pinned one of Mike’s arms behind his back and tried to steer them towards the couch.  With the wall no longer behind him, Mike twisted and wrenched wildly.  Wishing he was wearing a pair of his favorite stilettos, he stomped down on Trevor’s bare foot, and although his sneaker didn’t do much damage, Trevor yelped and his hold loosened just enough so that Mike could slither out of his grasp.  He made it to the door, but before he could turn the knob, Trevor barreled into him, knocking the wind out of him.  Mike drove his elbow back and heard a satisfying _oof_.

He yanked the door open fell into the hallway on his hands and knees.  Trevor grabbed hold of his ankle and was attempting to pull him back inside when the door across the hall opened and a young woman wearing yoga pants and tank top peered down at Mike.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she said.  “You two lovebirds think you could hold it down long enough for me to get through my relaxation exercises?”  Instead of retreating back inside like a sane person, she continued to glare between the two of them, hands on hips.

Mike climbed carefully to his feet and put plenty of space between himself and Trevor.  “I was just leaving.  Sorry to disturb you. Uh.  _Namaste_.”  He gave Trevor one last look which he hoped contained all of the anger and disgust he felt, and took his leave.

When he got home, he pulled out a bottle of Glenlivet one of his johns had gifted him with, and proceeded to get exceedingly drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much Harvey in this chapter, but he shall return.


	14. Chapter 14

Harvey managed to hold out for almost a week before calling Lawrence Hart. He had Donna locate his number. She gave him one arched eyebrow, but otherwise made no comment.

Hart sounded suspiciously pleased to hear from him. They exchanged a little meaningless small talk, and then Harvey got to the point. “I need a favor Larry. It’s about Mike.”

His words seemed to fall into dead space. Hart didn’t reply, and Harvey thought for a moment that Hart had hung up or that they had been disconnected. He heard an almost inaudible sigh on the other end.

“Mike? You mean Mike Ross?”

Harvey shut his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. That Mike. I seem to have lost his number.”

He heard Hart click his tongue. “Gee, Harvey, that’s a shame. That boy is a gem.”

Harvey could feel his molars begin to grind together and forced himself to relax. Hart knew exactly what Harvey wanted, but seemed to feel the need to tease him. “Do you think,” he said, voice soft, “that you could give me his number?”

“Hm. I don’t know. Are you sure he wants you to have it?”

“Larry....” He wished they were face to face instead of speaking on the phone.

“Oh, all right,” Hart finally said, voice petulant. “I guess I’m willing to share. There’s just one thing....”

 _Ah ha_. Hart wanted something. “What is it, Larry? You do realize I can’t fix your parking tickets, right?”

Hart laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. The mayor tears them up for me personally. No, actually, what I want is pretty straightforward lawyer stuff. There’s a document I want you to look over. A couple of pages. Nothing fancy.”

“Fine,” said Harvey, hoping he wouldn’t regret it. “Email it to me and I’ll take a look.” He gave Hart his email address.

“Terrific. As soon as I have a draft, I’ll send it your way. So glad you called, Harvey.”

“Larry,” Harvey said sharply before Hart could hang up. “Mike’s number?”

“Oh, right. I almost forgot. Got a pen?”

Harvey wrote down the number, made polite noises into the phone and hung up.

 

He tucked the number into a desk drawer, thinking that he would call later. Work grew hectic. He had to fire his associate when it was discovered that he had hired another person to take the bar exam for him. Jessica pressured him to look for a new associate, but he told her he was too busy, which was the truth. He worked late every night, spent weekends working from home, had a brief fling with his law school flame Scotty, got into an extended pissing match with an asshole lawyer from Boston, and then his world seemed to implode when he discovered that he had inadvertently been complicit in jailing an innocent man. He did everything he could, pulled every legal maneuver in his arsenal, but in the end, Clifford Danner remained behind bars.

For weeks, his office was decorated with stacks of file boxes filled with his old cases from the district attorney’s office. He went through every one of them himself, not trusting an associate or paralegal to find what he was looking for, and feeling on some level that he needed to serve penance for trusting Cameron and for letting Danner down so completely.

When he had satisfied himself that there were no more Danners in the system because of him, he sent the boxes back to storage and carried on with his life. Life, however, seemed to have lost some of its savor. He felt like he was going through the motions. He started drinking a little too much, and forced himself to ignore the frequent pointed looks from Donna.

One evening, long after the janitorial staff and come and gone, Harvey sat at his desk with a tumbler of scotch. His favorite pen had disappeared and he was searching for it inside his desk when he came across a slip of paper. It was Mike’s phone number. He picked it up by the corner as if it might be toxic, studying it and sipping his drink.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, and dialed Mike’s number.

It went to voice mail, with an unfamiliar voice announcing, “If you’re calling for Mike, leave a number and I’ll get right back to you.”

Feeling almost relieved, Harvey hung up, shaking his head, not sure what had possessed him to even try to initiate contact. Mike Ross was a fading memory. And so what if Harvey had found little time or opportunity to satisfy his physical needs since their brief encounter? So what if nobody interested him enough for him to want to make an effort? He’d been too busy, too tired, that was all.

He balled up the paper, held it over the trash can, and hesitated. After a moment, he scowled, tossed the crumpled paper back into the desk drawer and slammed it shut.

 

At the beginning of December, the document from Lawrence Hart finally arrived, and it turned out to be a modified confidentiality agreement containing specific conditions. As he read it over, Harvey realized what he was looking at. The end of December, the week between Christmas and New Year, was when Hart traditionally hosted his annual Bacchanalia. The agreement covered both guests and employees, and was fairly specific and graphic regarding some of the requirements. Reading it made him think of Mike, and he wondered if the boy was still involved with Hart, and how he was faring in general.

He remembered the whispers he’d heard years ago regarding Hart’s annual party. Something had happened and been thoroughly covered up, wealth and power being what they were. He wished he could remember the details. He frowned, concentrating.

_Mike would have remembered._

And why was he thinking of that kid again? It had been months since that twenty-four hours they’d spent together. He felt the familiar twinge of guilt. Harvey could admit now that he’d been so arrogant back then, so full of himself and his new position at the firm, and that he had behaved badly where Mike was concerned. The business with Cameron and Clifford Danner had humbled him a little. He realized now that he should have just sent the kid and his malfunctioning briefcase on their way, but instead he had decided to play games with his life.

Enjoyable games to be sure. And he would swear that Mike had been into every bit of it. A little _too_ into it. Too into Harvey.

His gut told him that if he believed that, he should take a look in the mirror. He sipped his drink and ignored his gut.

He read through Hart’s document again. He’d never warned the kid about Hart and his Bacchanalia. Maybe here was his chance for an attempt at amends. Decision made, he opened his desk drawer and searched around in it, finally finding the crumpled ball of paper wedged between some paper clips and a stack of post-it notes. Not giving himself time to think about what he was doing, Harvey dialed the number, and listened to it ring on the other end. Just like the last time, it went straight to voice mail. This time, however, he recognized Mike’s clear voice, and damned if it didn’t set his pulse racing.

_“Hi. This is Mike. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back when I’m free.”_

Harvey listened to the beep on the other end, thought about what he should say, came up blank, and hung up the phone.

He sighed, annoyed with himself. What was wrong with him these days? Mike wasn’t his problem. Harvey had left him an opening, asked him to call if he needed help. Mike hadn’t called, and so he must be thriving. End of story.

He finished proofing Hart’s document, made a couple of changes, saved it and attached it to his email reply.

_“Larry, made a couple corrections. Looks fine otherwise. Have a good party this year. H. Specter.”_

He hit Send and mentally closed the book on Mike Ross.

 

******

 

When Mike arrived at Hart’s place Thursday morning for the photo shoot and used his key to let himself in, his regular costume wasn’t waiting for him on his shelf in the bathroom. Instead, he found a robe and a pair of slippers next to $4,000. He went through his usual routine of undressing and showering, slipped into the robe and entered Hart’s play room. The bed and dais and plants were all still in place, but the drapery at the end of the room had been pulled aside, revealing a sort of makeshift studio, featuring a thick circular mattress covered with midnight blue satin sheets. A camera on a tripod was set up beside the mattress, and lights on stands had been arranged around it.

Hart stood behind the camera, consulting a light meter and making adjustments. He looked as casual as Mike had ever seen him, in jeans and well-worn Led Zeppelin t-shirt. His feet were bare, and remarkably tan for December, and his shaggy, highlighted hair was damp. He looked up and smiled when he noticed Mike watching him.

“There you are. Would you like some coffee, or something to eat before we get started?” He nodded toward the side of the room where a wheeled trolley held a carafe of coffee and a selection of bagels and croissants and fruit. Mike’s gaze traveled past the trolley to where several larger items had been shoved out of the way near the covered windows. He walked over to inspect them. Mike had been in the business long enough by now that he recognized the St. Andrews cross and the spanking bench and the suspension beam. “Mike. Coffee?”

He realized he hadn’t even greeted Hart yet, had been too entranced by the unused equipment seemingly just gathering dust. He pulled his hand back from fondling the spanking bench. “Uh, no thanks. I had some on the way over.” He turned his attention back to Hart, who was watching him with a little smile. Mike smiled back. “Never knew you had all this stuff back here.”

“Do you like what you see?”

Mike shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. Mostly, I’m surprised you’ve never wanted to use it on Monday afternoons.”

Hart waved a hand dismissively. “I went through a phase. At heart, though, I’m a lazy man, and most of these require too much work. These days I’m happy with my paddle. I still use some of these pieces for photo shoots. And once a year they all get carted off to Connecticut.”

“Connecticut?”

“My annual house party.” He reached for Mike’s belt and untied it, held the ends for a moment. “Which reminds me. I wanted to talk to you about that.” He leaned in for a quick kiss. “But we can do that later. Right now, let’s get started.”

Mike let the robe slide off the end of his arms and Hart caught it before it hit the ground. He hung it from a hook on the wall. The round mattress wasn’t in a frame, and so it was closer to the ground than a regular bed. Mike knelt on the edge, crawled to the middle and looked back over his shoulder. “How do you want me?”

Hart was already behind the camera snapping off pictures and didn’t answer for a moment. “Good, Mike. That’s good. Now lie flat. Stick your butt in the air a little.”

They continued on like that for a while, with Hart calling out directions to Mike. He turned and posed and Hart adjusted the lighting and they went through it again. Hart picked up another camera and starting walking around Mike, sometimes squatting, or perching on the edge of the mattress. Mike started to relax, and stopped thinking wildly of “Blue Steel” every time Hart asked for more intensity in his expression. He tried to remind Hart that he’d promised not to show his face, or make him recognizable, but Hart just waved off his concerns, seemingly too intent on the creative process.

After maybe an hour, they took a break. Hart sipped ice water, while Mike gave in and had a cup of coffee. Even under the lights, he’d begun to get chilled and pulled his robe back on.

“Now,” said Hart, changing the film in his cameras, “We’re going to try a variety of things.”

“Oh?” Mike’s eyes darted toward the spanking bench and then back again.

Hart laughed. “No furniture today. What I’m thinking, if you’re agreeable, is that we’ll try a few bondage positions, and then I’ll choose the one I like best, you’ll get your spanking, and we’ll finish up with some shots of you afterwards. How does that sound?”

Mike nodded agreeably, holding his arms out to the side. “I”m all yours, Larry. Tie me up and spank me.”

“A few” positions turned out to be a mild understatement. For the next two hours, Mike was hog-tied, frog-tied, spread-eagled, ball-tied, box-tied, put in reverse-prayer position, lotus fold and other contortions that Hart seemed to invent on the spot. The restraints were as varied as the positions: wrist, hand, thumb and thigh cuffs, manacles, thigh spreader, bondage belt, bondage mittens, arm binders. A couple of times Mike felt so ridiculous he couldn’t keep from laughing, and they had to stop until he got himself under control. After a while, Mike lost track of time, and was growing weary and ready to refuse to assume the next position when Hart called for another break.

“Shit,” Mike said, lying on his stomach and letting Hart massage some ointment into his over-strained shoulders, “you were right. This is a lot of work. Please tell me we’re just about done, because I’m ready for my spanking, Mr. DeMille.”

Hart hummed and wiped his hands on a towel. “Yes, I think I’m ready, too.” He looked over the array of bondage equipment spread out on the floor. “Your natural line is very fine, Mike. The camera loves you. And you skin positively glows, especially when you start to perspire a little. So...let’s keep it simple. Give me your wrists. Behind you.”

Mike felt Hart fasten the leather cuffs around his wrists, attach the chain between them, and adjust the length so that his wrists were crossed snugly at the small of his back.

“Up on you knees, but keep your shoulders on the mattress.”

It was an awkward position for Mike. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, trying to relax. He could hear Hart walking around him snapping off a few more shots and giving low, appreciative murmurs. Mike couldn’t imagine what Hart found so appealing about his bony angles and too-pale skin, but if they inspired him and served his art in some way, who was Mike to argue? He shifted his shoulders, widening his knees in an effort to get more comfortable. Behind him, the shutter whirred wildly.

Finally, he felt Hart settle in with one knee on the mattress, the other foot on the floor, and his free hand on Mike’s back. “All right,” said Hart, “relax, baby. This is going to be really intense today, more than our usual sessions. I want to get your butt nice and pretty and hot. As soon as I stop, I’m going to grab the camera. While I’m shooting, just do whatever feels natural. If it hurts, show it. If you need to cry, that’s fine. And if it gets you hard, be sure you roll onto your back and display yourself for me.”

The hand on Mike’s back was trembling a little, and Mike wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Mike? Let me hear you.”

“Got it.” He could feel himself clenching, tensing up, and once again he took slow, deep breaths to relax.

“Good boy. Don’t forget, ‘red’ stops everything.”

A barely audible _whoosh_ was Mike’s only warning before the paddle landed on his ass. He grunted, surprised. After that, the stinging blows fell hard, with a medium rhythm. Hart alternated between his cheeks, moving around in a regular pattern, as if trying to achieve a uniform color.

He wasn’t sure if it was because they hadn’t indulged in any role-play first to lead into this, but Mike couldn’t seem to relax and let go. It fucking _hurt_ and Hart’s noisy grunts of effort were too noticeable, like the sounds a tennis player might make when executing a power serve. He tried to stay present, to sink and blur into the pain, but for some reason Hart was really laying into him today. After it had gone on for a while, his tongue toyed with the word Hart had given him, to form the “r”, roll it around a little, imagined himself just blurting it out. _Red._

His knee slipped on the sheets and the next blow missed and landed on his upper thigh. He cried out, surprised. “Fuck!”

The blows sped up. “That’s right,” Hart panted, “scream it out. As loud as you want, Mike. You don’t have to be brave with me.” He grabbed Mike’s bound wrists and pushed them a little higher and Mike ground his face against the mattress, groaning.

Hart whipped the paddle back and forth, alternating forehands and backhands and Mike did scream then, a guttural, animal sound that morphed into anguished cursing. “Ahhh, god. Shit. F-u-u-u-c-k. Hurts, Larry. _Shit_ it hurts. It fucking hurts.” Without warning, his voice broke and he was sobbing. “It hurts. Ah fuck. I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this.” He wept into the pillow, shuddering and trembling and was only vaguely aware that the blows had slowed and stopped.

He wanted Larry there, wanted _someone_ there with him _,_ to hold him against their chest, to tell him what a good boy he was, and that everything would be all right, to lay him across their lap and rub soothing lotion onto his fiery ass. But Hart was up and snapping off shots and so Mike could only clamp down on the torrent of emotions that had been ripped loose, gasping and rubbing his wet face against the pillow, stretching out one leg, arching up a little. He rolled over onto his back, giving a little cry at the pain of his abused ass, and the strain on his bound wrists. His cock lay against his thigh like a dead thing. When he saw Larry move closer, he turned his head away and finally just dropped down onto his side, exhausted and shaking.

He was only peripherally away of Hart now, moving around him for a few minutes more, and then it was quiet in the room. “Is that it?” he asked wearily. Hart didn’t answer, so Mike peeked over his shoulder to find that Hart had peeled off his t-shirt and was unbuttoning his jeans. Mike noted absently that he must have been working out. His formerly soft middle had hardened and toned, and his tan gave him a robust, healthy look. Then Mike’s brain clicked back on. Hart was pulling off his jeans to reveal that he’d been going commando, and that he was sporting an impressive erection.

“What are you doing?” Mike asked.

Hart froze, looking at him quizzically. “Oh. Right. I know that I said....that we agreed....” He sat on the mattress and put a hand on Mike’s calf, gave it a little shake. “But I’d really like to fuck you. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

Hart’s question left Mike with an odd feeling. First, it felt wrong that someone was even asking his permission, and how fucked up was that? Second, he felt disappointment. So far, the shoot had been relaxed and fun -- difficult spanking aside -- and had given him a satisfying sense of collaboration with Hart. Those few hours had been ones during which he could almost be himself, not play a part, not be _on_. In fact, as he thought about it, he was surprised to realize that this time with Larry had felt something like being friends.

Hart’s request, polite as it had been, blew all of that away. It turned out that Mike was still just Hart’s whore, so why wouldn’t Hart want to use him? It’s what Mike was for, after all.

That made him think of Trevor, who for years had taken it as his right to use Mike whenever and however he liked. And Mike had let him. He turned his face into the mattress, suddenly tired of the photo shoot, tired of Hart, tired of his fucked up life. He closed his eyes. “Sure, Larry,” he said finally “Whatever you want.”

 

Hart left the cuffs on, and he fucked Mike with impersonal vigor. Unlike the emperor persona that he donned on Monday afternoons, this Hart kept quiet while he pounded into Mike, expect for his rhythmic grunts of effort. Mike kept his eyes shut and endured it, made a few noises of fake pleasure, but didn’t participate otherwise, and never got hard. After Hart finished, his satisfied shout the only sound in the room, he released Mike’s wrists, kissed his forehead, and left him alone again while he got dressed and packed up his equipment.

Mike considered getting up and getting dressed himself, but he was too tired, so he just lay there and drifted a little. The next thing he knew, Hart was shaking his shoulder. “Come on Mike,” he said, “time to get up. Sylvia’s going to be here any minute, and I’d rather she not find you in my home.”

He helped Mike to stand, and ushered him to the bathroom. Mike stopped on the threshold. His thoughts were fuzzy, but he remembered something Hard had said earlier. “Weren’t you going to tell me something? Something about your party in Connecticut?”

A look of impatience crossed Hart’s face, but he followed Mike into the bathroom. “No time for a shower, sweetheart.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to get changed. But yes. The party. It’s the last Saturday of December. It pays six hours at your regular rate, plus bonuses for each trip to one of the private rooms. In past years, my boys and girls have made out rather nicely.”

Mike paused in the act of hopping into his jeans, unpleasant memories of his night at the Baldwin Hotel playing through his head. “How many people attend these parties?” he asked uneasily.

Hart handed him his shirt and he slipped it over his head. “Several dozen, at least. No more than a hundred.” He chuckled at Mike’s expression. “Mike! It’s not like you’d be the only talent there. I generally hire a nice assortment of boys and girls. And some of my guests bring their own toys.” He seemed to have forgotten about his step mother for the moment and leaned against the sink, warming to his subject. “I used to be pretty involved in -- ” He made air quotes. ” -- ‘The Scene,’ and a few of the Doms I knew in those days usually show up with their subs or slaves. They love to put on a show. Makes for a lively evening. Oops, don’t forget this.” He handed Mike the envelope of money and grabbed his arm, leading him out to the hallway.

“So, how many times...” He wasn’t quite sure how to put it. “What, exactly, would be expected of me?”

“Well, mostly you stand around and look pretty, make conversation if you’re spoken too. If someone wants a blow job, those are typically done right there in public, because it is supposed to be an orgy, after all. You wouldn’t make any extra for those, just whatever the guest decides to tip you. If anyone asks to fuck you, private rooms are available upstairs. That’s where you make your money -- an additional $500 for each guest. You can refuse anyone for any reason. And I discourage multiple guests joining the talent at one time. If you feel comfortable with that, that’s fine, and of course you will get paid double.”

They’d reached the front door. Hart stopped talking and looked at Mike as if he was waiting for an answer right then.

“Well,” Mike hedged, “you certainly seem to have a lot of rules in place.”

Hart sighed. “It’s become necessary over the years. I absolutely do not want a repeat of 2003. These days, we have a shit load of security, and I’ve learned to have more talent available for the guests.”

Mike wanted to ask him what he meant, what had happened in 2003, but just then the buzzer from downstairs sounded, startling them both.

“Oh, fuck me.” Hart rolled his eyes. “The harpy has arrived.” He picked up a phone receiver and spoke into it for a few seconds, then replaced it and turned back to Mike. “Our monthly luncheon. Her idea, not mine. You’d better run along. I’ll call you later and explain the rest of it. I swear, it’s all perfectly safe and sane, though.” He smiled, shaking his head. “Not like the bad old days.” He walked with Mike into the small foyer that held the elevator.

“Oh, really?” Mike asked politely, and pushed the down button on the elevator.

“Let’s just say, if I didn’t have the family connections that I do, a certain opera singer would not have made it to Bayreuth the following year. Or for any number of years after that.”

Mike pulled a face, trying to imagine what Hart meant, and not sure he really wanted to know.

The elevator door glided open and Sylvia Hart stepped out and nearly collided with Mike. She glared at him, and then turned her ire on Hart. “Lawrence. _Really._ The company you keep. I swear one day you’ll be murdered in your sleep.” She gave Mike a dismissive look that made him feel like a diseased cockroach, and swept past them and into the apartment.

“Wow,” said Mike.

“That’s an understatement,” Hart muttered. “Sorry about that.”

Mike shrugged, trying to smile. “So your mom is anti-hooker. Go figure.”

“My _step_ mom. An important distinction.” Hart grabbed Mike’s arm before he could get on the elevator, and the door slid shut. He stroked a finger down Mike’s face and planted a quick kiss on his mouth. “She fucked my dad while my real mom lay in the hospital dying. No moral high ground there.”

Mike didn’t know what to say to that, so he studied the pattern in the carpet, itching to get away.

“Think about the party, Mike. My Bacchanalia. It won’t be the same without my little slave boy there.”

Mike nodded absently, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that had been growing inside of him since the end of the photo shoot. “Yeah. I’ll let you know.”

The elevator returned, and he left Hart in the hallway, staring at Mike until the doors closed.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duck!! Here comes the angst! Also, threw a few more tags up. And mildly dubious consent got upgraded (down-graded?) to plain old dubious consent.

Since Mike had missed his morning workout to get to Hart’s on time, he had skipped the cab ride and ridden his bike, leaving it in the care of the doorman, with whom he’d finally achieved an uneasy truce after showing up every Monday afternoon for months now. He retrieved his bike from the lobby and went outside. The morning’s low clouds had burned away, leaving behind one of those near perfect winter days, clear and crisply cold, with a a bright blue sky.

Mike rode aimlessly for a while and then headed for Central Park. He was exhausted and sore from his morning with Hart, feeling off-kilter like he hadn’t for months. He was scheduled with George Fordnam that evening, and needed to clear his head. Appointments with Fordnam were always intense.

He pedaled lazily through the park, watching bundled up toddlers with their nannies, lunch hour joggers, older couples on park benches eating sandwiches and holding hands. The people-watching didn’t give him the pleasure it usually did. He felt oddly disconnected from all of that normal-seeming life, as if it had nothing to do with him anymore.

It had to be simple loneliness making him so morose. Suddenly, he longed for some kind of human interaction that had nothing to do with his profession, and he ran through the short list of people he could call. Trevor was out, and in spite of the ugly way things had turned out between them, he felt a deep sadness for the loss of what they had once had. As much as he longed to talk to Jenny, she was Trevor’s, not his, plus telling her the truth would only give her pain that she didn’t deserve.

A crazy impulse seized him, a desire to talk to Harvey, to hear his voice again, even if he was only berating Mike or telling him he was a fool. He went so far as to stop on the side of the path and pull out his phone. He checked his missed calls first and had to blink several times, not believing what he was seeing. He recognized the number, of course, had it lodged in his memory like all of the other numbers in his life, but it didn’t seem possible. His phone screen seemed to be telling him that while he had been with Hart, Harvey had called, but had not left a message.

Mike put the phone back in his pocket and started pedaling again, heading out of the park and into the mess of Manhattan lunchtime traffic. While he dodged cabs, flinched at the sound of car horns and yells and curses, he ran the puzzle through his mind. How did Harvey even have his number? He’d never given it to him, and the one time that Mike had called him, he had used his personal phone, not this one that he had taken from Trevor, the one that he only used as a message phone for dealings with his clients.

More importantly, why had Harvey called? Was he looking to make good at last on his original offer and arrange for their next twenty-four hour appointment?

Even though Mike had been perilously close to calling Harvey, the thought of setting another appointment filled him with dread. He could so easily fall for Harvey. The man was every wet dream he’d ever had. And Harvey so obviously did not feel the same way. To him, Mike was just a momentary distraction, someone to play with for the night, but nothing more. A part of him ached for Harvey, itched to call him to find out if he was the same as he remembered. But another twenty-four hours with Harvey would likely break him in ways he didn’t want to think about.

He was so deep into his thoughts that he changed lanes without looking and was nearly run over by a delivery van. The driver honked and screamed obscenities and Mike cringed, heart pounding. Not long ago, he had raced and zig-zagged with confidence through this same traffic, delivering packages and documents for Freddy, but now he felt like a foreigner, worse than a tourist, and his nerves jumped and shied at every sound and sudden movement. Too rattled to continue, he hopped the curb and rode up onto the sidewalk before dismounting and walking himself and his bike out of the way of the foot traffic.

He leaned against a building, breathing hard. Stylish women and men in expensive suits hurried past, focused intently on their phones, or if in pairs, talking animatedly to one another. This made him think of Harvey again, and he was suddenly seized by the fear that he would run into him here, that fate would throw them together again and he’d have to explain what he was doing on Harvey’s turf. It was completely irrational, he knew, but he started to hyperventilate and to perspire even in the chilly December air, his thoughts zinging around like a trapped insect, his heart racing out of control.

Recognizing the signs of an impending panic attack, he looked around to orient himself, and realized he was only two blocks over from the coffee cart where he could purchase some relief from this paralyzing anxiety. He felt too shaky to get back on his bike yet, so he walked it over, and the young man at the cart greeted him like a long lost friend.

“Mike. Long time. You want your usual?”

“Sure.” He felt absurdly pleased that the man remembered him. “And something else maybe. Something to help me relax.”

“Yeah, yeah. How about some Xanax? Or Oxy. Got ‘em both.” He took a closer look at Mike. “Shit. You do look tense, man. The messenger business must be hectic these days.”

Mike just nodded, trying to smile, but feeling like his face was frozen into a bizarre grimace.

The man -- what was his name? Lenny? No, Leroy -- dug around in a carton near his feet and came up with Mike’s pot and a couple of pill bottles with the labels torn off. He showed them to Mike, and when he nodded his approval, Lance tossed them into a paper bag and quoted Mike a price. Mike handed over the money and shoved the drugs into his messenger bag

“Thanks, man,” he said, mounted his bike and glided off towards the street, feeling better already.

He decided to go visit Grammy. Even though he couldn’t -- wouldn’t -- discuss precisely what was bothering him, even if he could have articulated what it was, it always made him feel better to sit with her, play a few hands of gin rummy, talk about what was new in her life. So he made the trip back to Brooklyn, dodging pedestrians on the bridge, rolling through the familiar neighborhoods with his head up, just enjoying the day.

When he reached the nursing home, he was met with alarming news. “She’s picked up some kind of virus,” Carla, the RN on duty, told him. “We’re treating it, it’s under control, but at her age these things can hit pretty hard. She’s sleeping now.”

“Can I go sit with her?”

“Of course, honey. Just don’t wake her up. She needs her rest.”

So he sat and watched his Grammy sleep, holding her hand, wondering when it had gotten so thin and fragile, and when her cheeks had grown so gaunt.

Finally after about an hour, he leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Get better,” he whispered, and was startled by the note of desperation in his voice.

 

When Mike got home, he nearly called Fordnam to cancel. He was exhausted, achy, and more despondent than he could remember being for a long time. But after he took a Xanax and watched some television, his anxiety receded a little, and he began his regular ritual to get ready for Fordnam. He gave himself an enema, shaved his legs, took a long shower and lay down on the bed with his bottle of lube and pushed a good sized butt plug into his rectum. He set the alarm on his phone and took a nap, the Xanax helping him drift and doze for a while. When the alarm went off, he removed the butt plug.

By the time he was dressed and ready to leave, nerves had crept in again. He bit his lip. Smoking up sounded like a fantastic idea, but he vetoed himself firmly. He’d made it a hard and fast rule not to smoke before an appointment. He’d learned from painful experience that clients didn’t appreciate paying good money for a too obviously stoned hooker. The one exception was Tom Keller, who always insisted that Mike share a joint with him before they played together.

But tonight, his stomach was clenching and he couldn’t seem to draw adequate breath. So he took out the two pills bottles and set them on the table in front of him, trying to decide what to take, and how much. His experience with drugs didn’t extend far beyond weed, but he’d known a few students at Columbia who were always popping something.

A half-forgotten conversation surfaced and whispered through his mind. Actually it hadn’t been a conversation so much as a scolding from Harvey.

_“Descending into drugs already, are you? My god, Mike, you’re such a cliche. But I’d think a high priced whore like yourself would have a higher standard of professionalism.”_

He stared down at the pills, imagined himself six months or six years from now, addicted and still turning tricks to support his drug habit, looks fading, body starting to break down. And then he imagined himself pouring all the pills into the palm of his hand and swallowing them down at once and fading from the world forever.

He stared, transfixed, and the idea began to grow like a compulsion inside of him.

He lurched to his feet and walked the length of his apartment, putting distance between himself and temptation. _Shit. Shit, shit, fuck._ What was he doing? He rubbed his hand over his mouth. Why had the thought even entered his mind? He wasn’t that person. He wasn’t.

He paced restlessly, then grabbed the two pill bottles, carried them into the bathroom, dumped all the pills in the toilet and flushed. It took three flushes before they all disappeared from the bowl. Then he went back for the weed and it went the same route.

Feeling better, but still jittery, he called for a cab and went downstairs to wait, barely aware of the biting cold as he paced and fretted.

 

When Mike knocked on Fordnam’s door at the Warwick Hotel, the big man answered the door wearing a white robe with the hotel’s logo on its pocket. Mike had barely made it over the threshold and closed the door when he was shoved against the wall and subjected to Fordnam’s rough, almost painful kiss. Mike could smell the whiskey on his breath and tensed up. A drunk Fordnam meant it would not be an easy night. He managed to pull his head away to gasp, “Slow down. We’ve got hours yet.”

Strong hands dug into his shoulders. “Get on your knees.”

This sudden aggression took Mike by surprise. Up until tonight, Fordnam had always started out the evening playing the kind, chivalrous Southern gentleman. He sometimes got a bit rough toward the end, rougher still if he’d been drinking, but this was the first time he had started that way right out of the gate.

Mike clutched at his arms, trying to pull his hands off of him. “Let me take my coat off, at least.”

Fordnam’s hands tightened, and then pushed at Mike, shoving him toward the bed. Instead of following Mike, he stood still, swaying a little, his eyes moist. “So take it off,” he said. “Take off everything.” He took a drink and then turned his back on Mike.

As he undressed, Mike kept a wary eye on the big man. There was some weird undercurrent here, something manic and uncontrolled in Fordnam’s behavior. He folded his shirt and placed it on top of his pants, tossed them both on the chair near the bed and skimmed out of his briefs. “Do you have something for me to wear tonight, George?”

Fordnam turned back and his gaze raked up and down Mike’s body. “I don’t like it when you call me that. Call me Daddy, or sir, but don’t call me that.”

Mike stepped close to him and ran his fingers up and down his arm. “Sure, Daddy. Whatever you want.”

Fordnam plucked Mike’s arm off of him and shoved it away. “You only say that because I’m paying you.” He walked past Mike to the bed and sat down on the edge. After a moment, he set his glass on the floor and rested his head in his hands. “It’s all so fucked up. God, Mike. What have I done?”

Mike was getting a panicky feeling in his chest once again, but he forced himself to stay outwardly calm and sat next to Fordnam, keeping a few inches between them. He placed a careful hand on his knee. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Fordnam gave a heaving breath, and sobbed once before raising his head to look at Mike. “You’re a sweet boy. I’m sorry. Come here.” He scooted back on the bed so that his back was against the headboard and held out his hands, beckoning Mike to him. Mike paused, still not liking Fordnam’s weird behavior, but he finally obliged him, moving to fit himself against the other man’s side and letting himself be wrapped up in those massive arms.

They lay like that for a while. Fordnam seemed to have calmed somewhat, so Mike untied his robe and reached underneath it to fondle Fordnam’s cock, which began to harden. The other man sighed, his arm tightening around Mike. “You’re such a good boy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” After a few minutes, he pushed Mike’s hand away. “Fetch me my drink, would you?”

Mike found the whiskey where he’d left it on the floor, and handed it to him. Fordnam drank, finishing it in a few long pulls. Mike had stretched out next to him again, and Fordnam stroked his head absently. “My wife left me,” he said.

Mike tried to raise his head to look at him, but Fordnam held him firmly against his shoulder. “Shit, I’m sorry,” Mike said, hoping her leaving didn’t have anything to do with him.

“Bound to happen,” Fordnam said glumly.

Another long bout of silence ensued, during which Mike wondered if he should do anything, or what was expected of him. He decided to stay still and quiet until Fordnam came out of his funk enough to direct him.

It felt like they lay there for hours, but it couldn’t have been that long. All the while, Mike tried to relax, to take advantage of the peace, but he couldn’t seem to settle his thoughts.

Finally, Fordnam stirred and sat up, stripping out of his robe and heaving a sigh. “Guess we’d better get to it,” he said.

Mike couldn’t help a small laugh. “What a way to put it. Bored with me already?”

“No, sweetheart,” Fordnam said, voice solemn. “Never. You’re all I have now.”

Mike didn’t like the sound of that, and felt the need to protest. “Surely you have friends. Family? What about Larry Hart?”

Fordnam grasped Mike’s wrists, gripping hard. “I’m not paying you to argue with me,” he said with exaggerated patience. He transferred both of Mike’s wrists to one huge hand and pinned them over his head. His other hand migrated to Mike’s throat and pressed lightly. His eyes shone in the lamplight, giving him a feral appearance. “It’s a strange thing, isn’t it, Mike? I pay you, and you let me do whatever I want. If I chose, I could just snap your neck, snuff you out so easily. And who would care? Who would give two shits about a cheap little hustler like you?” He increased the pressure on Mike’s neck, not enough so that it hurt or restricted his breathing, but Mike was becoming genuinely frightened by his words and behavior.

He opened his mouth to speak, to ask, calmly and rationally, for Fordnam to let him go, but even as he drew his breath, Fordnam’s mouth slammed into his, tongue ramming into Mike’s mouth, filling it up, cutting off his air. He started to struggle, but the hand on his throat tightened again. A warning. Mike grew still.

When Fordnam finally lifted his head, Mike could read the need and lust in his pale blue eyes. “Roll over,” Fordnam rasped, grabbing for Mike’s hips and flipping him onto his stomach before he had the chance to comply. Fordnam turned away, towards the nightstand, reaching for lube and condom.

Mike edged toward the side of the bed. “I think we need to cancel for tonight,” he said. “You can keep your money.”

Before he could get to his feet, Fordnam lunged for him, grabbing him around the middle and hauling him back. His sheer weight pinned Mike down so that he couldn’t move. “Don’t make me do this, Mike.” His voice was pleading even as he pulled Mike’s wrists together and tied them with the belt from his robe. “You see, you can’t leave. I won’t allow it.” He looked around wildly, dragged Mike further up the bed, and threaded the ends of the belt through a loop in the headboard, leaving a terrified Mike with his back to the wall and his hands tied securely above him. Fordnam’s face crumpled a little and he stroked Mike’s leg.

“Don’t do this,” Mike said, panting hard. “Just let me go, okay?”

Fordnam cupped Mike’s face, kissed him again, softly this time. “You’re so good, sugar. Such a good little actor.” He fisted Mike’s cock and ran his hand up and down its length and Mike felt himself going hard. “You can’t fool me, though. Daddy knows what you need.”

Mike closed his eyes, fighting the panic. Was he overreacting? They’d played these games plenty of times before. Why was Fordnam freaking him out tonight? As Fordnam continued to jack him off, nipping and licking his neck, Mike came to a decision. He would do what he did best, play the role that Fordnam seemed to want in order to keep him happy. But this was the last time. Once he was safely away he would call him and tell him he was off the schedule for good.

 

It seemed to take Fordnam forever to get off. He shoved into Mike, grew soft, and retreated, a full three times before finally working up some momentum, pounding furiously away, sweating and wheezing, as if he wanted to punish Mike for his own performance issues. It was all Mike could do not to scream out loud because the only preparation was what he’d done himself at home, Fordnam was a large man, and it _hurt_. To make it worse, Fordnam had always taken him from behind before, but tonight Mike was treated to the sight of the man’s face dripping with sweat and going red and then purplish as he pistoned in and out of Mike.

It wasn’t the worst thing Mike had experienced in the past few months, but somehow tonight it seemed more real, less acceptable. As the minutes stretched one into the other and the assault continued, he reminded himself repeatedly that this is what he’d signed on for, that this was the life he’d chosen.

_This is what I am._

He gave a grunt of pain as Fordnam made a particularly forceful surge.

“You love it,” Fordnam gasped. “Tell me how much you love it.”

“Oh god, Geo -- Daddy,” he groaned, “I love it.” _I hate this. Just stop. It fucking hurts. Please please stop._

Finally Fordnam came with a satisfied groan, pulled out, and dropped heavily onto Mike, driving the air from his lungs. He wrapped his arms around Mike, holding on like Mike was the only thing keeping him from drowning. Mike's bound arms began to ache. Being tied up for so long was the last thing he needed after his morning with Hart. Fear kept him quiet, though. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing and set Fordnam off again.

After a few minutes, Fordnam got up and went into the bathroom. He came back with both a full glass and the whiskey bottle, and settled in next to Mike.

Mike shifted, trying to take the pressure off of his shoulder joints. His hands were starting to go numb and he thought he might go crazy if Fordnam didn’t release him soon. He cleared his throat. “Uh, sir?”

“Hm?” Fordnam eyed him over the rim of his glass.

“Do you think you could let me go now?”

Fordnam gave a skeptical laugh. “I don’t know if I should. Will you stay put if I do?”

“Sure.”

“Promise.” Fordnam frowned. “Promise me, Mike, that you won’t leave me.”

“Sure,” he repeated. Fordnam seemed to want more, so he added, “I promise. Absolutely.”

Fordnam stared at him as if he wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him. “Don’t.” He squeezed his eyes together, opened them again. “Don’t fuck with me Mike.”

“No. I wouldn’t do that.” Mike smiled sweetly and willed him to believe him.

After drinking half the whiskey in his glass, Fordnam nodded, seemingly appeased. “No. I know that.” He moved laboriously to straddle Mike’s thighs, spent cock flopping onto Mike’s stomach, and swayed a little as he leaned forward to work at the knot in the belt. Mike held his breath, holding in his groan at the weight on his hips and legs, and finally his bonds loosened and he pulled his arms free.

“Thank you.” Mike shook out his his hands, rubbed his arms, grimaced at the tingling pain as sensation returned.

Fordnam fell off of him onto his back. He patted one thigh. “Come here, baby. Lie down and put your head on my lap.”

Mike slid his gaze to the side and located his clothes and messenger bag. Fordnam was probably still a few minutes from passing out, but his movements had grown sluggish enough that Mike could maybe grab his things and make a dash for it. He didn’t look forward to getting dressed in the hallway, but if that is what it took....

Fordnam’s hand latched around his arm and pulled him closer, arranging him to his liking, so that Mike was curled up next to him with his head on his thigh. With his free hand, he petted Mike’s head, and it should have felt good, but Mike was too wound up to appreciate it. He closed his eyes, trying to pretend it was someone else with him in the bed, someone who hadn’t just brutally used him after all but threatening to kill him.

“You didn’t come.” Fordnam’s accusing voice startled him out of his musings.

“What?”

Fordnam grabbed a hunk of Mike’s hair and pulled so that he had to twist his head around in an awkward angle and meet his angry gaze. He gave Mike a little shake. “You never came. Why? Don’t I turn you on anymore?”

“Uh.” _Anymore?_ “Don’t worry about it. You’re the one that matters, not me.” He felt sick as the words came out of him.

“Well, I want you to come now.” When Mike only stared at him blankly, he pulled harder at his hair. “Did you hear what I said? Make yourself come for me. Now. Right now.”

Alarmed by the building anger in Fordnam’s voice, Mike grabbed his own cock and started to jack himself off. Worry built when his cock did not immediately respond.

“I can’t see you well enough from this angle,” Fordnam groused. Get down on the floor over there, under the light.”

Happy enough to put distance between them, Mike slid off the bed and crawled over to the spot on the carpet that Fordnam had indicated. He lay back and resumed masturbating. The room was quiet except for his harsh breathing, and the occasional clink of ice cubes in Fordnam’s drink. Every time Mike got a little traction, started to harden, he remembered Fordnam’s red, sweaty face, and his ugly grunts and softened again. He closed his eyes and tried to picture something else, someone else. In desperation, he gave himself permission to wander into taboo territory and call up the vivid memory of lying in Harvey’s bed and being fucked so beautifully. His hand sped up and he arched up, moaning at the sheer power of the sense memory. His cry of release was followed by a quickly smothered sob, after which he lay still, struggling to catch his breath.

No sounds of approval or disappointment were forthcoming from the direction of the bed, so he opened his eyes. Fordnam’s glass had fallen to the floor, the remaining whiskey was soaking into the carpet, and the big man had his mouth open. As Mike studied him, a small snort escaped him, and then he began to snore noisily.

For the first time since walking in the door, Mike allowed himself to relax. He sat up and just rested his head in his hands for several minutes, fighting tears of reaction. Then he went into the bathroom and scrubbed himself clean with a washcloth. With one eye on Fordnam’s lax form, he dressed rapidly and grabbed up his messenger bag. He realized that Fordnam hadn’t paid him yet. Mike hesitated, then picked up Fordnam’s pants from the dresser top and found his wallet. It held a total of twenty-three dollars.

“Shit,” Mike muttered, plucking the money out of Fordnam’s’ wallet and shoving it in his own pocket. He’d been with Fordnam two hours, endured what he had, and all he had to show for it was cab fare. Fordnam’s gold wristwatch lay on the nightstand, and Mike spent a few pulse-pounding moments staring at it, imagining himself snatching it up and taking it with him. It was probably worth more than he was making in a week.

He blew out a breath and shook his head as if warning away a mosquito. No. He wasn’t going to be that guy, that hustler with absolutely no moral compass. He might be a whore, but he was no thief. So he left the watch where it was, gave Fordnam one last expressionless glance, and let himself out of the room.

 

At home, after his shower, Mike realized he hadn’t eaten since before he saw Hart that morning. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet, so he ordered a pizza and paced restlessly while he waited for it to arrive. It had been a horrible day almost from the start, and it had definitely finished up that way. And as he had acknowledged to himself back at the Warwick, it wasn’t even the worst day he’d had since he’d met Harvey. Definitely top five in the worst day category, but at least he hadn’t been beaten (except by Hart, but he’d asked for that) and he hadn’t been...the other thing. Not like at the Baldwin.

He’d started to regret his hasty disposal of all the drugs he had bought earlier, but the pizza arrived and after the third piece he felt better, calmer. And it came to him quite clearly then, the realization that he couldn’t do this anymore, that he’d followed this strange, exciting, soul-destroying detour for long enough. He needed to get his life back on track before he’d wandered too far away to find his way back.

Rational mind engaged, he started to plan. He got on-line and pulled up his bank balance. Then he opened Excel and figured his monthly expenses, and how much he would need to get through the next few years, keeping the cost of Grammy’s care in mind, and the possibility that it might increase in the future. He bit his lip, thinking. He could get a job -- a real, actual, normal job -- and with what he’d saved, he could maybe, barely, afford to finish his four year degree, which would take about a year, and then find a law school which would take him. Without the crazy amounts of money he’d been taking in, he couldn’t afford a top tier school, and he was permanently barred from Harvard in any case, but there were plenty of less expensive colleges and universities close by to choose from. He’d heard good things about Brooklyn Law. And so what if he never got the opportunity to work for a firm like Pearson Hardman? The sorts of clients he wanted to help couldn’t afford their fees anyway.

It seemed like a solid plan. But he couldn’t stop thinking about “what ifs.” What if Grammy got sicker, needed some specialized care that would blow his budget all to hell? He needed a cushion, he decided, a decent sum of money that he could stick in a separate account somewhere and forget about while it earned whatever measly amount of interest was currently being offered.

It made his stomach seize up to think about it, and the pizza began to sit uncomfortably inside him, but he concluded that he should just continue on with all of his current appointments through the end of December, take on as many more as he could fit in. Even without Fordnam, that alone would net him nearly $50,000, perhaps more.

And then there was Hart’s party to consider. He allowed himself a small smile. _The Bacchanalia_. Such a pretentious name. That would be $6,000 minimum, and substantially more if he got into the spirit of things and offered himself up to all comers. He worried his lip with his teeth. Hart seemed to have plenty of safeguards in place to keep him from harm. Him and the rest of the “talent.” Another smile at that. So far it was the politest term with which someone had referred to his line of work.

But as organized as the whole thing sounded, just the thought of it was nearly enough to send him into another panic. He still had nightmares abouts his stint at the Baldwin. One client after another, after another, after another, all night long. Capped off by that brutal bastard who had delivered regards from the Fortins and....He dropped his head onto the table top and squeezed his eyes shut. There had been no one there to protect him, no Trevor watching his back, no Harvey racing in at the last second to save him. Hart’s party would be different. He could say no if he chose to.

If he did it, if he agreed to be part of Hart’s Bacchanalia, that would be the last time. His swan song. He sat up again, feeling more determined. He could handle it. Of course he could handle it. And when the new year began, he’d start fresh. A complete reboot.

It was a good plan, and he went to bed and slept untroubled by bad dreams for the first time in a long while.


	16. Chapter 16

Mid-morning on Friday of the second week in December, Harvey returned from a client meeting to find a piece of opened mail on his desk. The cream colored envelope sat there, centered perfectly, with a pink post-it note stuck to it. Donna’s neat scrawl proclaimed, _“You should go.”_

He glanced out the glass wall into the hallway, but Donna was deep in multi-tasking mode, typing furiously on her keyboard while gossiping with Rachel Zane.

He picked up the envelope, feeling the thick, smooth texture. Alert for some sort of prank, he opened the flap warily and plucked out the contents, which proved to be a card with a second post-it from Donna covering the picture on the front.

_“Harvey, you need to get laid. For the sake of all humanity.”_

He rolled his eyes, tore off the post-it, and just froze, mouth going dry. “ _God,_ ” he whispered, barely aware of the word escaping his lips.

He was looking at a photograph of a nude man in subdued colors, almost sepia-toned, pale skin luminous, except for for the taut, muscular ass, which glowed a fiery red. The man lay on his stomach, one lean leg stretched out, back arching slightly, with his wrists cuffed behind him. Whoever had taken the photograph obviously knew what they were doing. Light and shadow played over him in stunning chiaroscuro, highlighting the tension in his back muscles, subtly suggesting a struggle against his bonds, the neck tendons standing out in the beautiful agony of the moment. The model’s head, bent back from the dark surface upon which he lay, was almost entirely in shadow, with a sliver of light lending a hint of tear-stained cheekbone, damp, sweaty hair, eyes squeezed shut and mouth just starting to fall open, perhaps to moan, perhaps to beg.

The angle of the shot and the obscuring shadows should have made the model anonymous, a faceless, nameless subject, a pretty decoration to pique one’s interest in the contents of the card. Harvey, however, instantly knew those lean lines, recognized the tiny white scar on his hip, the shape of his head and his long, narrow feet.

_Mike_.

Harvey looked his fill for a few minutes, drinking in the beauty of the composition, the story it told and that had been captured in that perfect instant. When he finally opened the card, he was prepared, unsurprised, to find that this was Lawrence Hart’s invitation to his Bacchanalia. Harvey had known, had heard Sylvia mention Hart’s photography more than once, but he had assumed it was a rich man’s hobby, something to fill a portion of the aimless hours of his life.

This, though. He closed the card again and gazed at the picture on the front. The man was good. Really good.

And Mike. _Shit._

He opened the card and reread the invitation: _“December 29, 8:00 pm. Formal or fetish._ ” That was all, followed by an address in Connecticut, and a link to a website under which was printed, in parentheses. _”Signed form required for entry. No exceptions.”_

Harvey assumed that if he typed the link into his browser, he would find a copy of the confidentiality agreement he had proofed for Hart. He shook his head, impatient. He had no interest in the sort of parties Hart threw. He started to stuff the invitation back into the envelope, but paused, giving the remarkable photo another long perusal.

Without stopping to think about what he was doing or why, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found Mike’s number where he had saved it. He tapped the screen and put the phone to his ear, listening to it ring through to the other end. Donna chose that moment to look through the glass at him. He held the envelope up between thumb and forefinger and pointedly tossed it in the trash, then swiveled his chair away, so that he was looking out the window.

Three rings, and then Mike’s voice, sounding tired and harassed. “This is Mike. At this time I’m booked up through the end of the year. If you would like to be put on the waiting list, leave your name and number. Uh, Happy Holidays.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear, broke the connection, and glared at the screen. Let the boy make what he would of another hang up call from Harvey Specter. Annoyed at his momentary weakness, he turned back to his work, checked some briefs, proofed and initialed some bills, made a couple of phone calls. And as soon as Donna left her desk for a few minutes, he dragged the trash can out from underneath his desk and rescued Hart’s invitation, which he tossed into his desk drawer.

The next morning, the card was back on top of his desk with a new post-it from Donna. _“If you’re not going, can I?”_

This time, he stuck the card in his pocket and took it home with him when he left for the night.

 

******

 

Mike was busier than he’d ever been. Every single one of his clients seemed to want to book some time during the holiday season, and he kept his formal wear cleaned and ready because he was suddenly attending holiday functions on almost a daily basis.

Some of his clients with previously vanilla taste had grown unaccountably creative. He had his first (and last, he hoped) experience with pony play. Twice during the month he found himself dressed as an elf, once getting fucked by Santa himself. The heir to a chemical company asked him to show up at his home in army fatigues and dog tags, which was actually kind of hot, and a welcome change from the feminine or boyish outfits which were usually requested. The next day found him dressed as a little girl, sitting in the lap of yet another horny Santa. He was glad this was all coming to an end, because he didn’t think he could take much more of it, and it became more and more difficult not to just break into hysterical laughter at some of the absurd situations in which he found himself.

Around the second week of December, he noticed an up-tick in clients, particularly acquaintances of Lawrence Hart, who wanted to tie him up and spank him. That was fine with him, but he started charging extra for that sort of play, since recovery time sometimes affected his performance with other clients. It didn’t help that more often than not, they had a tendency to swing away with more enthusiasm than finesse, and didn’t know the first thing about aftercare.

When those sessions became too intense, too painful, he reminded himself that it was only for a few more weeks, that there was a finite limit to how long he would have to endure this.

The holiday season had one unforeseen benefit. It had never occurred to Mike that there was some sort of unspoken tip your hooker policy during the holidays -- not unlike annual gratuities expected by doormen, postal carriers, or hair stylists. He received piles of cash, gift cards from high end stores, expensive bottles of alcohol, two spa packages, one muffin basket, and even a gift pack of assorted lubricants and condoms. It was all a little overwhelming.

One especially sour note during that time turned out to be George Fordnam. He called nearly every day, leaving increasingly bizarre messages, pleading with Mike to talk to him, insisting that they were destined to be together, that his life would be worthless without Mike in it. One day, he spent a full five minutes cursing violently and drunkenly into the phone. Mike tried blocking his number, which resulted in another curse-filled rant originating from a new number. The whole thing was unnerving, but at least Mike was busy enough that he could focus on other things besides an unraveling George Fordnam.

During most of that month, he kept in touch with his grandmother via phone calls. The staff at her facility assured him that she had recovered from her illness, and her energy was returning. He could clearly hear her disappointment, though, when he broke the news that he wouldn’t be able to join her for Christmas dinner. “New Year’s,” he promised. “I’ll spend all day with you, and I promise I’ll have more time, so much you’ll probably get sick of my face. And I’ve got news. But I’ll tell you in person. On New Year’s Day.”

 

Halfway through December, his schedule was completely full, and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to meet all of his obligations.. When he visited Hart on Monday for their regular appointment, Hart asked him to stay for a few minutes following dinner.

Mike glanced over at the grandfather clock. He had another appointment at eight, but he said agreeably, “Sure. I can spare a few minutes. What’s up?”

Hart grabbed Mike’s hand and led him to a small study with a desk, a couple of leather club chairs, and several bookcases crammed full of books. Hart sat behind the desk, and indicated that Mike should sit across from him. Reaching into one of the lower desk drawers, Hart extracted a few sheets of paper and pushed them across the desk, along with a pen.

“So, you haven’t changed your mind, right? You’ll be working the Bacchanalia?”

Mike smiled with more enthusiasm than he felt. “Yep. I wouldn’t want to let you down.”

“Terrific.” He indicated the papers. “Some of my guests are fairly well known. A few sports stars. A couple of celebrities. Politicians. And they would prefer that what happens in Connecticut....”

Mike nodded. “Stays in Connecticut. I get it.”

“Great. Then I just need you to read over this confidentiality agreement, initial where highlighted and sign at the bottom.”

“No problem.” He started reading what seemed like a fairly standard legal document, with added mentions of safe, consensual sex. As Mike initialed and signed, Hart was busy retrieving other items from the desk. When Mike finally looked up, he saw an array of photographs. It took him a few seconds to realize that they were from his session with Hart, and he did a double-take.

“Wow,” he whispered, picking one up and staring at it in something like awe. “That’s me?” He was cuffed, and his ass glowed red. The light picked up the tension of his muscles while the shadows both obscured and created graceful, flowing lines. He picked up another one, and another, flipping through all of them and looking up at Hart with newfound respect. “Wow,” he repeated. “You’re talented. How’d you make me look so....” He waved a hand around, at a loss for the right adjective.

Hart collected the photographs and tapped them back into order. “Give yourself some credit, sweetheart. You were a delightful muse. So natural. And your emotions are always so close to the surface. Do you know how rare that is?”

Mike didn’t know what to say to that, but he could feel himself blushing, proving Hart’s point. “Do you think....” he hesitated, not sure he should even ask.

“Would you like some prints?” Hart sounded pleased. He thumbed through the pile and selected two photos. One was of Mike in one of the more complicated bondage poses. His arms were pulled behind him in the arm binders, his legs bent back and cuffed to his wrists. Although shadows fell across his face, he would be easily recognized by anyone who knew him, but he found that the idea didn’t bother him.

The second print that Hart chose had been shot after the spanking when Mike had been flopping around on the mattress, trying to get comfortable. Somehow, Hart had turned that into art. One leg was stretched out, and his back was arched. Again the shadows obscured his face, this time more completely, but he could still just make out the tear tracks on his face.

“That’s....”

“Beautiful?”

Mike smiled, not meeting Hart’s gaze. “Beautiful? No, not me. Your photography, maybe.” He waved the two prints in the air between them. “Thanks for this.”

“If you like, I can have one or both enlarged. Or I could get them framed for you.”

Mike shook his head. “No. I’ll take them just like this.” Suddenly remembering his eight o’clock appointment, he stirred restlessly. “If that’s everything, I really should be taking off.”

“Of course. I’ll see you next week.”

Mike nodded, stowed the prints in his messenger bag and headed for front door. Something like guilt moved through his gut as he thought about canceling on Hart, telling him that their Monday afternoons would be coming to an end in a couple of weeks. No doubt Hart would take it in stride, as he seemed to do everything. Still, in a weird, definitely surprising way, Mike would miss him and his stupid emperor costume. And his paddle.

 

******

 

The following Friday evening at nine o’clock, a week and a day before Hart’s party, Harvey stood in front of a mirror in the lobby of the Plaza Hotel and checked his appearance. He wore his tuxedo, gold cuff links, and his hair was gelled to within an inch of its life. The Pearson Hardman holiday party had started at eight o’clock in the Grand Ballroom at the Plaza. For the first time, Harvey wished he could skip it. He didn’t feel up to chatting and schmoozing with clients and colleagues, but Jessica expected him there, and as a senior partner he couldn’t afford to be absent. It was a social event, but plenty of business got conducted as well.

In past years, he’d brought a date with him, but tonight he had opted to go alone.

The first person he saw as he stepped down the stairs and into the already crowded room was Jessica. She was chatting cozily with Sylvia Hart, and they both smiled at Harvey, beckoning him over. The three of them made small talk for a few minutes, and then Jessica excused herself, saying that she needed to mingle.

Almost as soon as Jessica was out of earshot, Sylvia glanced up over Harvey’s shoulder and her face took on an expression of startled anger.

“I don’t believe it,” she muttered. “He’s got some nerve.”

“Hm?” Harvey turned, craning his neck, searching for the person who had gotten Sylvia so upset.

“That boy. What on earth is he doing here?”

That’s when Harvey spotted Mike. He stood next to a tall, good-looking blonde man, both holding champagne flutes and smiling -- a handsome couple in their impeccably fitted tuxes.

“Is there a problem, Sylvia?”

“That little hustler. He’s angling for something with Lawrence, I just know it. Always hanging around. Someone should tell him he’s not welcome here.”

Harvey placed a reassuring hand on Sylvia’s arm. “I’ll have a word with him. In the meantime....” He plucked a couple of champagne flutes from the tray of one of the circulating wait staff, handed one to Sylvia, and drank half of his down as he made his way across the room, weaving his way between tables set with snowy white linen, lush poinsettias and flickering candles.

Before he could reach Mike, Harvey observed Louis Litt approach his companion and drag the reluctant looking blonde man away for a private conversation. While Mike’s attention was diverted, Harvey slipped up beside him.

“Abandoned by your date?” he asked, taking perverse enjoyment in the look of shock on Mike’s face when he recognized him.

“Harvey.”

They examined one another for a moment. To Harvey, Mike appeared worn out and distracted, but he told him, truthfully, “You look good, Mike.”

A noncommittal grunt in response. “I certainly never expected to see you here, Harvey.”

Harvey raised his eyebrow, amused. “Oh? You didn’t expect I’d be at my own firm’s holiday party?”

A quick blush suffused Mike’s face. “This is Pearson Hardman’s party? Oh. _Shit_. I usually pay more attention. I’ve just been so....” He dragged a weary hand through his short hair, and Harvey couldn’t help but remember the shaggy-haired boy he’d first met. “Tom told me he was being courted by someone named Louis Litt. It never occurred to me....” He smiled, and why did he have to look so charming? So adorable? “So you actually work with that guy? Tom tells me he’s kind of a creeper.”

Harvey sipped his champagne and looked over to where Louis had the man backed up against one of the ornate gilt-frosted columns near the wall. “Louis is...unique. He may be a creeper, but he’s our creeper. And he’s an excellent attorney, although if you repeat that to anyone, I’ll deny it.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you say Tom? Is that Tom Keller?”

Mike nodded. “Yep. His current attorney is one of his old college buddies, and from some of the stories Tom’s told me, he really needs to fire the guy. Maybe you should get in on the conversation over there. You might have a better chance of landing him than Louis.

“I wouldn’t want to cramp Louis’ style.” He eyed Mike again. He looked really good in the tux, but he would rather see him in much less. “Or your style. Is Tom your...?”

Mike’s mouth twisted in sour amusement. “My client? It’s okay, you can say it. And yes, he is. One of my favorites, as it happens.”

Harvey let that pass, not wishing to dwell on the idea of Mike with anyone else. He remembered Sylvia’s comment. Regretfully, he asked, “How much longer do you think you’ll be here? Because I’ve received some complaints.” A slight exaggeration, but it got the point across.

A faint frown touched Mike’s face. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m with an invited guest.” He gave Harvey a searching look. “Are you asking me to leave?”

Harvey hesitated. “Not me.”

Mike’s gaze swept the room, and then a look of sudden understanding dawned. “Ah. Sylvia Hart.” He finished off his champagne and looked around longingly for more. “I think she actually believes I have designs on her stepson. That I want to marry him and steal his inheritance.”

Harvey didn’t care for the sound of that. “And do you? Have designs on him?”

Mike laughed. “God, no. He pays well, he has some artistic talent, and he’s a decent lay, but he’s also self-absorbed, spoiled and entirely lacking in empathy.” His expression grew rueful. “And if you repeat that to anyone, I’ll deny it.”

Harvey couldn’t help smiling. “Fair enough.” He considered the wisdom of continuing this conversation, and decided he didn’t care. Sylvia could shove it. “Would you like a drink? Something other than champagne?”

“You’re not going to call security and have me tossed out? What will Sylvia think?”

“I think she’ll be just fine.”

Mike glanced over at Tom Keller, where he was still deep in discussion with Louis Litt. “Yeah. You know what? I’d love a beer.”

Harvey touched him lightly on his back and guided him over towards the corner, where a bar was set up. He ordered a beer for Mike and scotch for himself and then they wandered over to the buffet table and grazed on chilled prawns, fancy cheeses, and flaky little puff pastries filled with some sort of spicy vegetables.

There was a lot about which Harvey was curious, but he was reluctant to push Mike by asking too many personal questions. He told himself that Mike’s choices were none of his business. So they stood side by side, eating and drinking, observing the people around them and making amusing comments, and Harvey was surprised to realize that he hadn’t enjoyed himself so much for months.

Suddenly, Mike stiffened and turned his back on the room. “Shit,” he muttered.

“See someone you recognize?”

Mike nodded. He looked embarrassed, but Harvey could see that he was also fighting a grin. “The guy with the silver hair and well-trimmed goatee. The one that looks like he’s spent a little too much time in the sun?”

“One of your clients?”

“Oh yeah. He’s got some...unique tastes.”

“Huh. That’s Jack Caldwell. Head of Estate Planning at Pearson Hardman.”

“Oh. Never mind then.”

“Uh uh. You can’t leave me hanging like that. Tell me. What’s he into?”

Mike chewed his lip, seeming to debate how much to say. “You can never repeat this.”

Harvey put a hand over his heart. “On my honor.”

Mike laughed. “I’m not sure you have any of that. But -- and you really cannot repeat this -- Jack likes to wear a woman’s wig. And when I -- he makes me call him Donna.”

Harvey stared at him in something like horror. “It wouldn’t be a red wig, would it?” When Mike nodded his confirmation, Harvey grimaced. “That is so wrong in so many ways.”

“I take it you know who Donna is?”

“Oh, yes. In fact, you met her, Mike. At the Harvard interview.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “ _Oh_.” And then he grew quiet, as if that reminder had set off a whole slew of other memories.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, and Harvey regretted the loss of their easy rapport. He could admit that it bothered him a little, hearing about the other men Mike had been with. His _clients_. It didn’t change the fact, however, that he still felt a strong pull toward the boy, an attraction that was stronger even than the first time they had met. Mike had his back to the room, and when Harvey saw Tom Keller detach himself from Louis and start to walk their way, he knew he needed to say something, or lose his chance.

“Mike,” he started, then couldn’t think of what else to say. Mike was looking at him, his eyes clear and a little wary. Harvey drew a deep breath and took a chance. “I want to see you again.”

 

******

 

Harvey’s statement took Mike by surprise. His heart started to beat faster, because this was something he had contemplated too often, but had never thought was an actual possibility. Words of happy agreement threatened to come tumbling out, but then he remembered the circumstances, and who he was talking to.

He painted an amused look on his face. “Looking to spend your holiday bonus?”

“Mike. That’s not -- ”

“Well, I’m all booked up right now. And in case you’d forgotten, my hourly rate has risen considerably since we first got together.”

“That’s not what I was suggesting.”

“What? You want it for free now?”

Tom suddenly appeared at Mike’s side and wrapped a possessive arm around his waist. “Everything all right, Mike?” He was giving Harvey a curious stare.

“Tom, this is Harvey Specter. Senior partner at Pearson Hardman. The guy you really want if you decide to hire his firm.” Mike maintained eye contact with Harvey as he made the introduction.

Tom and Harvey shook hands and an awkward silence fell.

Mike heard Harvey sigh, and then he reached into his pocket and retrieved a business card, which he handed to Tom. “Feel free to call me if you’re in the market for a new attorney.” And then, as if he didn’t know exactly who and what Mike was, he handed him a card as well. “That goes for you too, of course.”

And then he walked away, smiling and greeting clients and acquaintances as he disappeared into the sea of beautifully dressed people. As Mike watched him go, he got an odd feeling, wondering what it would have felt like to be here with Harvey if, all of those months ago, Harvey had hired him as his associate, not his whore. He shook himself, and turned back to Tom, who had a slight frown on his face. Mike smiled brightly. “Had enough of lawyers yet? Ready to go get your brains sucked out through your cock?”

Tom laughed. “Now that sounds like a plan. Let’s go.”

 

When Mike dragged himself out of bed the next morning, aching from the late night appointment he’d had after he left Tom, he checked his phone and saw with some surprise that Harvey had called him again, and had left a message this time. His finger hovered over the screen for a few seconds as he debated deleting it. Then he shrugged and listened to the message while he stood in his kitchen making coffee.

_“Mike, I was serious last night about wanting to see you. I realize that because of our history...well, it’s complicated, to say the least. What I’m proposing is not a business transaction, but a date. I’d like you to consider it.”_ A pause of several seconds. _“You’ve got my number. I hope you’ll call me. If I don’t hear from you, I promise not to bother you again.”_

Mike stood, scoop filled with ground coffee frozen in mid-air. He let out his breath and dumped the coffee into the filter, jammed the filter into the coffeemaker, poured the water and hit the “on” switch. As soon as he was done, he tapped the phone’s screen a few times to replay the message.

Harvey wanted to date him? He gave a harsh laugh, not at Harvey’s suggestion, but because he wasn’t sure he even knew what that meant anymore. Dating had become -- what had Harvey called it? -- a business transaction. He leaned against the wall, watching the coffee drip into the glass carafe, and tried to remember the last prolonged human contact he’d had that didn’t involve money changing hands. All he could come up with were the few hours he’d managed to spend with his grandmother over the past several months.

Exhaustion seemed to weigh him down, and he barely made it to the sofa before his legs gave out and he slumped down, cradling his head in his hands. He felt empty, as if he’d used up all of his reserves of energy and had nothing left. He wanted to say yes to Harvey, to call him back and arrange for a date. But what would Harvey expect from him? The same compliant kid he’d once been, desperate for money and craving Harvey’s touch? Mike didn’t even know that kid anymore, could barely remember him. And why would Harvey want to be with the person Mike had become over these last months?

He glanced up at the clock on his wall. He needed to get to the Upper West Side in less than an hour. Gil Buxton would have the footie pajamas and sugary cereal ready, and be eagerly waiting to cuddle/molest Mike in bed while what passed for cartoons these days played on the huge television on the far wall. At noon, “Bud,” whose real name he’d never learned, wanted to watch his busty blonde girlfriend pound into Mike with a strap-on. And he’d promised to squeeze in a quick blow job that Hart had bought for an artist friend of his. After that, he had to rush home to get himself looking beautiful and glamorous to attend a performance of _The Nutcracker_ with a bank CEO who would probably keep his hands up Mike’s skirt every time the house lights went down.

“I can’t do this,” he moaned at the empty room. Would the world grind to a halt if a few rich pervs failed to have their fantasies fulfilled today? He thought about all of the money he would be giving up if he canceled. And he reminded himself that this was the last week, and Saturdays were always the worst. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint,” he muttered, wondering where those words had come from, and why they’d popped into his head. He realized he didn’t care. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted out to him, luring him with its promise of artificial energy to wind him up and send him out into the day. He knew that once he got moving, momentum would do the rest, and then he would be one day closer to his new life.

He pushed aside thoughts of Harvey Specter, but didn’t discard them completely. After the new year, once he’d slept for perhaps three or four days straight, then maybe he’d have the clarity to consider Harvey’s offer. Now, though, he needed to mainline coffee and get in touch with his inner child -- so Gil Buxton could have his way with him.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple more tags added.

When Mike rolled out of bed one week later, the day of Hart’s party, snow was falling in Brooklyn. He started a pot of coffee, and luxuriated in the knowledge that he had the entire morning free. Hart’s car was picking him up a little after noon for the drive up to Connecticut, where he’d been promised a thorough pampering in preparation for the the main event.

While the coffee brewed, he wandered to his window and watched fat, wet snowflakes plop onto his fire escape and melt. Below him, patches of grass and dirt and bare tree branches were coated with white, but the streets and sidewalks remained dark and wet. “Four days late,” he whispered, his breathing steaming up the glass. A little snow might have made Christmas day easier to bear. He thought about that and shook his head decisively. No. Nothing short of Armageddon would have helped that day.

He turned away from the window, moved to his bookcase, and picked up the lone Christmas card he’d received. It was from Trevor, with no return address, but Mike had been surprised to see that it had been postmarked in Bozeman, Montana. The artwork on the front showed a sentimental scene with an assortment of animals all snuggled up together, including a lion and a lamb, and inside, the swirly, gilt-edged message read, “Peace on Earth.” Mike had decided that this was Trevor’s version of an apology, so instead of tossing the card in the trash, he’d set it on the bookcase, and there it remained, a lone outpost of holiday cheer in his apartment.

Restless, he returned to the kitchen and poured a mug of coffee. He thought about his planned visit to the nursing home tomorrow, of Grammy’s inevitable question, “How was your Christmas, Michael?” and he leaned against the wall, head back and eyes closed, knowing that he could never tell her the truth.

He’d started out the day splayed out on top of the bed covers in a hotel room, naked except for the sparkly gold bow tied to his dick. He’d been gifted by Hart again, but this time the recipient did not seem pleased by the surprise. He’d attacked Mike with slaps and a few well-aimed punches, urging him out of the bed, all the time roaring about fags and queers and that he would be making his complaints to the management. Once Mike got out his explanation of how he’d ended up there, the man had calmed a little, at least to the extent that his anger was redirected at Hart, and Mike finally understood that he had played a part in a practical joke that had backfired badly -- onto him. The man -- Mike never got his name -- apologized, and even gave Mike an extra fifty dollars to get dressed and out of the room as quickly as possible.

From there, Mike went to meet his next client, who was a young man named Tad, on break from Columbia Law School, who drove him to New Jersey for Christmas dinner with his whole family. Halfway through the ham and candied yams, Tad had stood and, with high drama in his voice, announced that he was gay, that Mike was his Gay Hooker, and that he’d dropped out of school and used most of his next semester’s tuition to pay Mike’s fees.

Chaos erupted, and Mike grabbed his coat and made a break for it before the villagers could light him on fire. One phone call later and he was in a cab on his way home. He discovered how expensive a cab ride was back to Brooklyn, but at least Tad had paid him in advance, in cash.

Christmas should have ended there. It really wasn’t fair that Mike should have to venture out again after two back-to-back fiascoes like that. But fate wasn’t done with him. He was scheduled to meet Nils Gilchrist for dinner at six o’clock at his apartment in Manhattan, and Nils was paying for six hours, so presumably he had some big plans cooked up. Mike had only been with Nils once before, and it had been a rather tame evening. Nils was a quiet man but he took his sex seriously, and had taken Mike twice, each time making Mike see stars.

He was surprised to find Nils with another young man, sitting on the sofa together and sipping wine. The boy didn’t look more than eighteen, with baby-fine blonde curls and ridiculously huge green eyes.

“Uh, hi,” said Mike, desperately searching through his memory to determine if he’d shown up at the correct time. “Am I....Is this...?”

Nils stood up and came over to Mike, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the couch. “You’re right on time. This is Mike,” he said to the young man. “Sit down,” he urged, and Mike sat on the far end of the couch. “Mike, this is my nephew, Brian.”

Brian’s gaze darted to Nils and then back to Mike. He smiled.

Nils sat between them on the sofa, holding each of their hands. “Mike, I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to get something special for Brian for Christmas. He’s recently confided in me that he likes boys.”

Brian sighed loudly and yanked his hand out of Nils’ grasp. “It was supposed to be a secret.”

Nils laughed. He leaned his head toward Mike and whispered, “Get undressed. Down to your underwear.” Mike hesitated, but one sharp look from Nils and he stood up and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“It’s all right,” Nils was saying to a visibly uncomfortable Brian. “Mike isn’t going to tell anyone. He knows better than to give away our secrets.”

“Why’s he getting naked?” Brian asked.

Nils sighed. “I’ve told you. He’s my gift to you. You can explore whatever feelings you’ve been having. If you like, he can be your first. Or, if you’d rather, I’ll go first and you can watch how its done.”

Mike was down to his briefs by now, and he stood in front of the other two, trying not to look as awkward as he felt. “Uh, Nils,” he said, nodding toward Brian. “He’s legal, right?”

Brian blushed a deep red. “I’m eighteen. I had my birthday last week.”

“And this is okay with you?” Mike didn’t want a replay of that morning’s “gifting.”

Brian nodded.

“There, you see? Now what will it be Brian? How do you want him?”

What followed had to be one of the most uncomfortable evenings Mike had spent, and he’d had a lot of uncomfortable evenings lately. First Brian decided he wanted a blow job. Then he wanted to watch while his Uncle Nils received the same. By then young Brian was hard and ready to go again, so all three of them headed for the bedroom. Brian wanted to fuck Mike, but he got so excited just seeing him kneeling there in front of him that he came even before he managed to get the condom on. Nils required more recovery time, so Mike was made to perform for them, lying on the bed masturbating -- _slowly...don’t come too fast!_ \-- while they pulled up two comfortable chairs and enjoyed brandy and cigars.

Finally, Nils put on a demonstration for his nephew, explaining every step from opening Mike up and getting him loose, to rolling on the condom and applying lube, and finally, as he thrust into Mike, he panted and managed at the same time to explain about the prostate, showing Brian what it did to Mike when he hit it repeatedly. By the time he was done, Mike felt like he’d just made some bizarre training film for gay sex.

When it was Brian’s turn again, he got a wicked gleam in his eye that Mike didn’t care for, and he whispered into Nils’ ear for far too long. Nils nodded at whatever Brian was saying, and before Mike could even make a protest, he was grabbed by both of them and seconds later he found himself kneeling and cuffed to the headboard.

“He looks pretty like that,” Brian told his uncle.

“He’ll look even prettier after you use this.”

Mike looked over his shoulder to see Nils handing Brian a leather belt which was looped a few times around his fist. “That’s going to be extra,” Mike got out just before Brian nailed him with the belt on his upper thigh. “ _Shit._ Watch the buckle, for fuck’s sake.” The belt came down perhaps a dozen more times.

“I wish I had an actual whip,” Brian said sulkily, and unlooped the belt to crack it full length on Mike’s backside. “I’ve seen some videos. Do you have anything we could put inside him?”

Nils patted his nephew’s shoulder. “Maybe next time. Tonight maybe just use your dick.”

“Fine.”

Mike watched over his shoulder to make sure Brian was using a condom, and then with little warning other than Brian’s damp hands pulling his cheeks wide, he thrust into Mike and proceeded to fuck him even harder than his uncle had. After he came, he pulled Mike’s head back by his hair and whispered in his ear, “Thanks, Mike. That was great. Next time maybe you’ll get to be the nephew.”

Which was when it became clear to Mike that it had all been an elaborate scene, and he’d just been fucked by another hooker, which would have been all right if the little prick hadn’t insisted on beating him first.

 

Realizing that his coffee had gone cold, Mike shook off the memory of how he’d spent Christmas and poured himself a fresh cup. He glanced out the window. The snow was falling faster now, the flakes smaller. Hopefully Hart’s car was equipped to drive in the snow and would make it all the way to Connecticut. Not that Mike would mind missing the party, but he’d committed himself and, weather permitting, he’d follow through, because after tonight he’d never have to put up with another Tad or Nils or Brian.

Hart’s car pulled up to Mike’s building right on schedule. It turned out to be an SUV that had been converted to a stretch limousine. When he climbed inside, he found that he would be sharing the ride with the rest of the “talent,” or at least five of them.

“Hi, guys,” he said, settling in next to a dark-haired young woman who was wearing ear buds and studying a chemistry textbook. He received a few mumbled hellos in response from the rest.

He’d only met a couple of his fellow hookers over the last months, and now that he was in a car full of them, he found himself curious to find out more about them. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m Mike.”

It was an obvious opening for introductions to be made, but no one responded at first. Finally, a sleepy eyed blonde across from him shrugged her shoulders and said, “I’m Cindy. There’s sandwiches and drinks in the cooler. No booze, though.”

“Anyone got any drugs?” asked a too-thin boy in jeans, tight t-shirt and denim jacket who sat with his legs folded up, feet on the seat, and arms clasping his knees. He was ignored by everyone except Cindy, who rolled her eyes.

Mike tried again. “Have any of you ever done one of these parties before?”

Another boy was bundled up in the corner of the back seat, with a scarf obscuring his face and the hood of his parka pulled up. “I have,” he said, and something about his voice was familiar. Mike took a closer look at him. He had big green eyes and a wisp of blonde hair showing from the side of his hood.

“Brian?” When the boy lowered his scarf and grinned sheepishly, green eyes shining with mirth, Mike couldn’t believe it. “Oh, great.”

Brian broke into delighted laughter. “You’re not happy to see me again? After we shared such a special moment?”

Remembering the bruises and welts he’d gone home with that night, Mike scowled. “What was with the belt, you asshole?”

“Relax. It was his idea, not mine. Like I said, maybe next time you’ll be his nephew. I usually don’t get the chance to be on the giving end of things, if you know what I mean, so thanks for that. You were a real sport.”

Cindy was looking back and forth between them. She spoke to Brian. “Wait. Like, you fucked him?” Brian grinned and nodded. “Oh, man. That’s hilarious.”

Mike’s enthusiasm for bonding with his colleagues had by now collapsed completely. He sat back, wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes, pretending to fall asleep. At some point on the drive, he did actually doze off, and woke up up to the feel of the car slowing and making a wide turn. He opened his eyes to a world covered in white. The limo was making its way slowly up a long driveway. A huge house appeared out of the swirling snow, lit up by thousands of tiny, twinkling white lights.

Mike wondered out loud if the guests would be able to make it out there in the snow.

“Oh, they’ll make it,” Cindy said. “You think those rich fucks will let a little snow keep ‘em away?”

Two men wearing wool coats waited near the house, and when the limo finally skidded to a stop, they opened the doors and ushered everyone out. As they all dripped and shivered on the marble floor inside the back door, one of the men ran through their instructions.

 “There are two rooms upstairs where you can relax. We have food ready for you. You can take advantage of the showers, rest up if you need to, or watch tv. Just be ready to go by quarter to eight. ‘Ready’ means means clean and naked, no personal jewelry, no phones. You’ll find lockers for your belongings and robes with your initials which you may take home with you as souvenirs. During the party, you’re entitled to one fifteen minute break, but don’t all take yours at once. If you have any questions or need anything else before the party, press the button on one of the intercoms and someone will be right up.”

“When do we get paid?” asked Cindy.

“After the party.”

There was some grumbling at that, but no one said anything more.

Their “waiting area” turned out to be on the third floor, and consisted of two large rooms with thick mats and pillows on the floor, several televisions and a case filled with DVD’s of movies and tv shows. There were already six young people in the room, most of whom were ignoring one another. A few looked suspiciously stoned on something. The newcomers found their own spaces to flop down, bringing the total talent up to an even dozen, half boys and half girls. A few of them looked too young to be there, but they were all sleek and beautiful and appeared unconcerned about what the night might bring.

According to the clock on the wall, it was nearly five o’clock. The snow must have slowed traffic. Mike was glad he’d managed to sleep for most of the trip. He found the bathroom next door and relieved his bladder, then decided to beat the rush and took his shower. He found the locker labeled with his name, picked a four-digit code, and locked up his things. In robe and slippers, he wandered restlessly from room to room. The food looked surprisingly bland, just sandwiches and chips and cut up fruit. He wasn’t hungry but helped himself to some bottled water, while reflecting that his idea of “pampering” differed greatly from Hart’s.

Unlike the rest of the eerily calm “talent,” his nerves were jumping. As he stared out at the dark, snow-frosted estate, he was struck by what a pretty, picturesque setting it was. The house was beautiful, inside and out. Even the rooms upstairs set aside for the “talent” had been decorated with care. Framed photographs covered the walls, and Mike wondered if Hart had taken them. They were different than the ones Hart had taken of him, mostly landscapes and seascapes, but beautifully composed. Mike took his time studying the photos, because it allowed him to focus on something besides the depressing, all too real scene in front of him. His fellow talent looked so young, delicate and fragile, yet at the same time hard-faced and blank of eye, as if they had seen and done too much in their young lives.

The longer he stayed in the room, the more the certainty began to build inside him that he had the exact same look in his eyes.

He returned to the bathroom next door and locked himself in, gazing for long minutes into the mirror, studying the man looking back at him, staring for too long, until his sense of disorientation grew and his lungs didn’t seem to work properly. He shut his eyes and took in painful gasps of air. An irrational fear took hold that he was suffocating. His eyes flew open and his reflection stared back, pale and terrified. The room seemed too warm, the walls too close. “Shit, not now,” he muttered.

He realized that someone was knocking and he yanked the door open to find the dark-haired girl glaring in at him. Mumbling something that he could only hope sounded coherent, he exited and she slammed the door sharply behind her. A look inside the waiting area showed the other talent still looking relaxed and bored. No one else was freaking out like he was and he lectured himself to calm the fuck down.

He needed some air, he decided. He couldn’t fucking _breathe_ in here with all of these strangers. Ignoring the curious stares a couple people sent his way, he opened his locker and slipped back into his jeans and t-shirt, grabbed his coat, and still wearing just slippers on his feet, he practically ran down the stairs and nosed around until he found the door to the outside.

Snow still drifted steadily down. He saw a narrow path that had been cleared in the snow, leading away from the house and the lights, and decided to follow it. The frosty air was sharp against his face and hands. His lungs expanded and he felt oxygen begin to circulate again, calming him down. He had no idea where the path led, but he figured he would just walk a little further before turning back. It started to curve, taking him along a row of box hedges, and he realized that he was going to wind up in the front of the house if he kept going.

Something rustled in the snow-coated hedge. He shivered and then lost his footing and slid a little on the slick path, his slippers providing no traction. He reached one hand towards the hedge to steady himself and decided that it was time to turn back. His attack of nerves had subsided, and now he was calmer, but freezing.

There was another rustling noise, and he spun around in the dark, trying to see what was there. A dark shaped loomed next to him, and suddenly something that felt like cloth slipped over his head, making the darkness complete. He lifted his hands to tug at it, but first one and then the other hand was yanked behind him and he heard the unmistakable sound of handcuffs clicking into place. The cloth bag was dragged from his head and he opened his mouth to yell for help, but before he could, a crumpled cloth was shoved into his mouth. He pulled away, made it two steps before his attacker slammed into him, knocking him onto his back and pinning him down with their greater weight. He squirmed futilely, even as he heard a quick tearing sound, followed by the feel of something sticky over his mouth, sealing the cloth inside. He blinked rapidly, trying to get a good look at the other person, but all too quickly the bag was pulled back over his head, and then it was a struggle just to breathe and stay upright as he was lifted to his feet and half-dragged through the cold, wet snow.

He heard a car door open quite close, and then he was being shoved inside, face down on the cool, leather upholstery.

“Stay quiet and don’t move,” a voice whispered above him. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but judging by their size and strength, it was a pretty good guess that it was a man.

What felt like a blanket dropped on top of him. He felt smothered, entombed in layers of cloth and darkness. Terror took hold of him, and once more he was struggling to breathe, to suck enough air past the gag and through the cloth covering his face. When he realized he wasn’t going to immediately suffocate, he stopped thrashing and lay still, listening. The car moved slowly. All he could hear of his abductor was soft slightly labored breathing from the front seat.

Mike decided he needed to see what was happening. As quietly as he could, he began swiveling his head back and forth, dragging the blanket aside, inch by inch. He finally felt it fall away leaving his head now covered only by the bag, if that’s what it was. He changed the motion of his head, swiping down and up, down and up, and gradually the bag slid up his head and with one last swipe his face was clear.

The interior of the car was dark, with just a hint of light from the console. By lifting his head, he could see through the front windshield, and the darkness, falling slow, and headlights gave the illusion of driving through a tunnel. They were well away from the house already, and appeared to be back on the highway. Every so often, another car crawled by in the other direction.

Daring much, Mike struggled into a sitting position. He noticed that he’d lost his slippers at some point, and his feet were bare. The driver turned his head then, as if just realizing that Mike had popped up like a jack-in-the-box behind him. Mike met his arctic blue eyes with a spike of fear that was almost overridden by shock.

_George Fordnam._

He must have made a noise through his gag. Fordnam’s jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t have ignored me,” he said, and he sounded tired, like a man with nothing left to lose.

Mike grunted and then shouted into the gag, frustrated by his lack of a voice, and the resulting inability to talk himself out of this -- whatever _this_ was.

“Just lie down, sweetheart. Relax. We’ll be there soon.”

 _Be where soon,_ Mike wanted to ask. Defying Fordnam’s directions, he stayed upright, looking for road signs to give him some indication where they were headed, but if there were any, they were obscured by the falling snow. His imagination began to torture him with possible ways that this all might play out, and he slumped back, wondering why fate hated him so goddamn much.

They’d driven for perhaps an hour. Fordnam was not skilled at driving in the snow. Every so often he drank from a bottle he had on the seat next to him -- gin, from the smell of it. He’d skidded a few times, fishtailing wildly, and Mike was afraid they were going to end up crashing into another car or slamming into a snow bank. He sat tensely, shoulder muscles aching, unable to relax. When Fordnam lost control again, and they nearly slid into a semi truck, he pulled the car over to the side of the road and sat with his head in his hands, breathing heavily. He took a long drink, rubbed his chest absently and then twisted around in the seat so that he could see Mike.

“Change of plans, baby. We’re going to have to find somewhere to wait out this weather.”

He reached over the seat to touch Mike’s leg, probably to soothe and reassure, but Mike couldn’t help flinching away from him. He made a non-verbal sound of distress through the gag, widening his eyes to try to convey his displeasure with the situation. Fordnam smiled at him and patted his leg. “Don’t be mad at me. We’ll find a motel and everything will be just fine. You’ll see.”

It took nearly another hour of heart-stopping driving, but they finally saw a sign announcing lodging available at the next exit, and pulled off the highway. The hotel was close to the exit, but the roads here were even more clogged with snow, and it took another twenty minutes before they made it into the parking lot.

Fordnam left Mike locked in the car while he went into the office. He was gone for perhaps ten minutes, during which time Mike rubbed his wrists nearly raw trying to free himself from the cuffs. Fordnam returned with a room key and drove around to the back, far from the office. He helped Mike out of the car, not seeming to notice or care that Mike’s feet were bare. Keeping a firm grip on Mike’s arm, he marched him up the snowy sidewalk and into the room. Mike was shivering violently by the time they got inside.

Mike gave the room only a cursory glance -- ugly hotel room, king-sized bed -- and took a closer look at Fordnam. He had a wild, lost look in his eyes. His hair was greasy, as if he hadn’t washed it for a week or more. He smelled of alcohol and body odor. His clothes were wrinkled and stained. For half a minute or so, Fordnam just gazed around the room, looking like he was deciding what his next move should be. He stripped his coat off, holding it in his hands, and then glanced over at Mike as if he had forgotten that he was there.

Bare feet tingling with cold, hands cuffed behind him, gagged and with duct tape over his mouth, Mike felt as tired and hopeless as Fordnam looked. When Fordnam moved in his direction, he backed up quickly, stopping only when his back hit the front door. With his coat under his arm, Fordnam put one hand on Mike’s shoulder, and lifted the other to Mike’s mouth.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I can and I will if you make a fuss. You have to promise you’ll be quiet if I take this tape off your mouth.”

Mike nodded jerkily and Fordnam ripped the duct tape away and plucked the cloth from Mike’s mouth.

“Ow,” Mike said. “And thank you, but what about the cuffs?”

“I’ll take them off in a minute. First, though, we need to talk. You need to understand.”

“Understand what? That you fucking kidnapped me? What’s to understand about that?”

“Calm down, Mike.” Fordnam sat on the bed, rubbing at his chest. “I’m tired, Mike. You don’t even know.... I’ve lost everything.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a revolver, laying it on the bed next to him.

“Whoa. What’s that?” Mike stepped back, but the door was right there. He groped behind him for the doorknob. “There’s no need for this, George.” He could feel his heart pounding against the walls of his chest.

“I said I wasn’t going to hurt you, and I meant it.” Fordnam’s hand dipped into his pocket again, and this time it came out with a bundle of cash, folded in half and held together with a rubber band. “This is for you. Everything I have left.” He picked up the gun and held it out to Mike on his palm like an offering. “I want you to kill me. That’s what I’m paying you for. You can count the money. There’s over ten thousand there.”

Mike could scarcely believe what he’d just heard. He shook his head, and kept shaking it. “No way. I won’t do that.”

“Come over here, Mike.” When Mike didn’t move, Fordnam sighed and pointed the gun at him. “Just do what I say, all right? You always do what I say, that’s what I like about you. You’ve been such a good boy, so why stop now?” He shook the gun impatiently. “Mike....” And then he was up on his feet and across the room. He grabbed Mike’s arm and dragged him over to the bed, pushing him face down. Mike shut his eyes, expecting to feel cold metal against the back of his head, or to hear the gun go off behind him, and he was trembling so hard he could feel the bed shake. So he was surprised when he heard a soft metallic click and the cuffs fell away, leaving his hands free. When nothing else happened, he rolled slowly onto his back, eying Fordnam warily.

The other man held the gun out, offering it to him again. “Take it, Mike. Kill me, and you can go free.”

Mike shook his head. “No. Stop asking me that.”

“Please, Mike.” Fordnam grasped Mike’s hand and forced it around the grip of the gun. “ _Please_. _”_ His eyes bored into Mike’s, desperate and wild.

“No. God, George. _No._ ” He grimaced in distaste and dropped the gun, kicking it along the floor as hard as he could and hearing it hit something on the far side of the room. “I would never consider doing that. Not even for a second. _Shit._ I’m not that person.”

Mike glanced at the door and considered making a dash for it. The thought of leaving Fordnam alone with the gun, of him placing it against his temple...he told himself he shouldn’t give a shit what the man did, but it made him ill to imagine the man shooting himself if he could do something to stop it. He understood something about reaching that level of desperation. “You’re not thinking straight, George,” he said, keeping his voice low and soothing. “Hey. When’s the last time you slept?”

Fordnam started pacing, expression agitated. “If you cared about me, you’d do this for me.”

It was on the tip of Mike’s tongue to tell him that of course he didn’t care about him, that he was just a john with a big wallet. But even if he didn’t feel about him the way Fordnam wanted him to, it simply wasn’t in him to shove the man any closer to taking his own life. He clenched his jaw, holding back his frustrated groan.

_And fuck you anyway, conscience._

“Look,” he said, standing up and putting his hand on Fordnam’s arm, forcing him to stop pacing, “you need to calm down. Just sit down and think about this for a minute. Talk to me, okay?”

“I’ve thought about. All I’ve done for the past few weeks is think about this.” He gripped Mike’s shoulders hard. “Please, Mike.” He muscled him toward the bed. “I’m done talking.”

“Once you sober up -- ”

“I’m not drunk!” He shoved Mike hard. Mike fell back onto the bed, and then Fordnam was on top of him, his hand on Mike’s throat. “Do I need to convince you? You know I can make you hurt. I could make you hurt so bad you’ll wish you’d shot me when you had the chance.”

His free hand went to Mike’s pants, working open the button and unzipping him. Mike struggled, but the big man was too strong for him. He sagged against the bed in defeat, exhausted, tired of the fight. One more fuck. What did it matter?

“No underwear. I like that.” Fordnam tightened his hold on Mike’s throat. “Lift up.” Mike swallowed and shook his head, knowing it wouldn’t make any difference. Fordnam backhanded him across the face, and goddamn it, that hurt. When Mike’s vision cleared, his jeans were pulled down around his knees. Fordnam straddled him, breathing hard. “Have you changed your mind yet?”

“You’re crazy,” Mike gasped. He shut his eyes, blocking out the sight of Fordnam’s angry face and manic eyes. Fordnam struck him again and he bit back a sob.

Fordnam made a frustrated noise. “Open your eyes. God, you’re worthless. I thought you were something special, but it turns out you’re nothing but a weak, spineless little whore after all.” He unzipped his own trousers and pulled his cock out. His face had grown red, bordering on purple, and his breath came out in painful sounding wheezes. “Fine. Just lay there and earn your money.”

Mike felt like he’d entered a nightmare. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be granted the ability to rewind his life, to undo all the stupid mistakes he’d made in the past few months -- no, not months, he’d been fucking up for years. “Don’t,” he whispered.

But Fordnam didn’t stop. One blunt finger found Mike’s entrance, shoving inside so roughly that Mike cried out in pain. Then the finger was gone and he felt the head of Fordnam’s cock and the man was looming over him, panting, battering against him, seeking entrance. Fordnam gave a sharp cry and his face tightened. He froze, mouth moving like a dying fish, and then clutched at his chest and collapsed on top of Mike.

He just lay there, his massive weight pinning Mike to the bed. After maybe half a minute, Mike realized that he wasn’t breathing.

“Oh shit. Oh _fuck_.” He shoved at Fordnam’s lifeless form. Desperation gave him strength and finally he managed to push hard enough that Fordnam flopped over onto his back. Mike scrambled to his feet and backed away from the bed. Blank, dead eyes were fixed on the ceiling, seeing nothing.

Nervously, Mike moved back to the bed and placed his fingers against Fordnam’s neck, feeling for a pulse. _Nothing_. The big man’s eyes already appeared to be filming over. Mike snatched his hand back. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t stop staring, white noise filling his mind.

An approaching car’s headlights lit up the closed blinds and suddenly Mike’s stomach gave a lurch and he ran for the bathroom, tripping over his jeans and landing on his hands and knees in front of the toilet and then he was retching violently, emptying himself of everything, until all that remained was bile, and he spasmed and sobbed in reaction before collapsing in a shivering heap on the floor.

 

He never knew how long he lay there, but after a time the chaos in his mind cleared enough the he was forced to take stock of his situation. He didn’t know where he was. A man lay dead in the other room. He had no wallet. No ID.

No fucking shoes.

Hysterical laughter began to build inside of him, but he remembered the dead man on the bed and it evaporated. He flushed the toilet, stood up on shaky legs and clung to the sink, rinsing out his mouth repeatedly and sluicing cold water over his face. Realizing that his jeans were still bunched around his knees, he pulled them up and fastened them. He closed his eyes and just breathed.

When he began to feel steadier, he walked back into the other room, carefully avoiding any glances toward Fordnam’s body. He lifted the phone from the nightstand and carried it as far away from the bed as the cord would reach, then sat on the floor and with shaking fingers dialed a number from memory. It seemed to take forever for the connection to be made, and then the phone on the other end rang four times before it was answered.

“Yes?” There was that voice, deep, arrogant, impatient and a little pissed off. It was the sweetest thing Mike had ever heard.

“Harvey,” he whispered, leaning back against the wall, feeling a helpless sort of relief surge through him.

“Who the hell is this?”

Mike cleared his throat, and it sounded like a sob. “Oh, god. _Harvey_. He’s dead.”

A long pause, and then, voice incredulous, “Mike? Is that you?”

Words tumbled crazily through Mike’s brain, explanations and pleas and justifications and declarations, but he couldn’t seem to latch onto anything or put them in any order that made sense. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Harvey,” he said again. “Yeah. It’s me.”

“Where the hell are you? They’ve been searching for you for hours.”

Mike couldn’t make sense out of Harvey’s words. He breathed in and out and clung to the one thing he knew for sure. “Harvey, please. I need help. I need you.”

And when Harvey said, without hesitation, voice as clear and pure as the ringing of a bell, “I’m here, Mike,” it felt as if all the screaming chaos in his mind quieted and grew still because suddenly he wasn’t alone anymore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a real wrestling match trying to write this chapter. The writing faucets had been wide open for a couple of months, but have slowed down significantly due to various, er, reasons. So if updates are slower for this and my other stories, sincere apologies. Nothing will be abandoned, and I will do my best to keep chugging right along. Thanks for reading!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So life threw me a few curveballs these last few weeks, and I've taken longer than usual to update (and to reply to all of your wonderful comments). My apologies.

Going into work on a Saturday morning was nothing unusual for Harvey.  In fact, sometimes he preferred the solitude, the hushed quality of the hallways and the darkened offices around him.  He could turn up his music and plow his way through more work in a few hours than he could get done during an entire week day.

Today, though, with the snow falling outside the window and thoughts of Mike Ross -- thoughts bordering on the obsessive, he admitted -- he found it difficult to concentrate.  He was just considering going out for some more coffee when he heard a noise outside his door and looked up in mild surprise to see Donna standing at over her desk.  He stood and walked out to greet her.

“Donna?  Shouldn’t you be outside making snow angels?”

“Maybe later.”  She pulled her hand from inside her desk drawer and held up a tube of lipstick.  “My favorite shade.  Tonight’s hot date wouldn’t be nearly as hot without this.”

He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, and nodded as if he understood the concept.  “Going somewhere exciting?”

“Well, I’m not attending an orgy in Connecticut, but I think we’ll manage a reasonable share of fun.”

He nodded again, staring at the toe of his shoe, and then realized what she’d said.  “Wait.  I’m not -- C’mon, Donna.  If you think I’m interested in that sort of thing, you don’t know me very well.”

She sat down behind her desk as if she planned to be there for a while.  “But I do know you, and I think that what you’re interested in is the delicious looking boy on the invitation.”  Her eyes took on a playful gleam and her mouth curved wickedly.  “Don’t think I didn’t recognize him, Harvey.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  Because really, how could she know?

“Don’t you?  I may not have an eidetic memory, by I have an eye for faces, and even the little bit visible on that card was enough for me to recognize your conquest from the Chilton.”

Harvey stared at her blankly, searching his memory rapidly.  Had he ever spoken to her about Mike?  He could have sworn he’d never mentioned the freakish memory, or anything else specific for that matter.  She looked so smug, though.  Understanding dawned and he narrowed his eyes at her.  “How in the hell -- ”

“Phones with intercoms, Harvey.  They’re everywhere, and they’re not that hard to figure out.  Oh, and a belated shame on you for taking advantage of the boy like that.”

“It wasn’t -- ”  He worried his back teeth with his tongue and they glared at one another.  He broke first and turned slightly away so that he was staring down the hallway instead of at Donna.  It galled him that he couldn’t even make up a plausible lie, since she had apparently heard everything.  “I was going through a phase,” he finally muttered, knowing how lame that sounded.  “And he was just...I mean his eyes and...that ass....Shit, Donna, you saw him.  You know what I mean.”  He chanced a look at her.

One flawless eyebrow rose.  Mouth pinched together, she shook her head, expression sorrowful.  “Skinny boys aren’t my type, but I’ll take your word for it.  But, if you wanted him so badly, why didn’t you just hire him?  No -- ”  She raised one hand to stop him from pointing out that he _had_ hired Mike.  “You know what I mean.  Why didn’t you hire him as your associate?  That’s just the sort of crazy risk you love to indulge in.  Or, gee, I don’t know, maybe you could have asked him for his phone number?  That’s what people do, Harvey.  They don’t back people into corners and mess with their lives in order to get what they want.”

He sighed.  “I made a mistake.  I see that now.  But right then, on that day, at that moment....”  He shook his head, trying to remember what he’d been feeling.  “I couldn’t just let him walk out of there, so I went with my strength.”

“Being a manipulative bastard?”

He was beginning to grow annoyed with the cross-examination.  “Yeah.  It’s what I do.  It’s what pays me so well, and incidentally, pays you pretty well too.”

“Hm.”  She was quiet for a moment.  “You still want him.  That’s painfully obvious.  So why not drive up to Connecticut and get him?”

“Like that’s so easy.  For one thing, it’s snowing like a son of a bitch.”

“You love to drive in the snow.”

He turned the idea over in his mind.  She was right about one thing (well, a lot of things), he did enjoy the challenge of driving in the snow.  Then he imagined himself walking into Hart’s house, and he grimaced.  “I’m a one-on-one kind of guy.  I don’t really get off on public sex and....”

“Sharing?”

He didn’t answer, just thought about that.  _Did_ it bother him to think of all the men Mike had been with?  Maybe a little, but not enough to blunt the sharp spike of desire he still felt whenever he thought about him.  Hell, _he’d_ been with plenty of people too, mostly quick hook-ups and one night stands.  Quite possibly, Mike had not yet caught up to him in sheer numbers.

Donna stood up and tucked the tube of lipstick into her handbag.  “Why don’t you enjoy a nice, terrifying drive in the snow, and claim the boy as your own? Go find him and.....”  She waved a hand in the air.  “You know, do that thing you do.  Sweep him off his feet.”

“I don’t do that thing.  And he’s not a Disney princess, Donna.”  _No, he’s a hooker who is being well paid to be at that party._

“Okay, so if big romantic gestures aren’t called for, do that other thing you do.  Do what you do best.”

He looked at her expectantly.

Donna leaned toward him as if about to reveal some well-guarded secret and said, voice drenched in honey,  “Close him.”   She turned away, heading for the elevators, throwing one parting shot over her shoulder.  “And do it soon, before someone is forced to do you bodily harm.”

 

When Harvey first started working with Donna all those years ago, he had made the mistake a couple of times of ignoring her advice.  It hadn’t ended well.  He spent another half hour in his office, staring out his window at the snow, brooding, and calculating the risks of ignoring Donna again.  In the end, it wasn’t Donna’s advice so much as the thought of Mike at Hart’s party that spurred him into action.  He was tired of waiting for another go at the boy, tired of sharing him with unknown nameless men, and if Mike was too stubborn or too insecure to recognize that he was wasting his life and his intellectual gifts and putting himself at risk, well then maybe he needed someone to step in and set him back on the right path.

_And you actually believe that someone is you?_

He told his annoying internal monologue to shut up, and then pointed out to it that he was the one who had steered Mike towards that path in the first place, so it only made sense that he should fix this.  Internal monologue set straight, he picked up his phone to find out what the car club had available in a four wheel drive vehicle.

 

Harvey gave himself plenty of time for the drive to northeast Connecticut, but still managed to arrive later than he’d planned.  It was seven-thirty, and perhaps half a dozen cars were already parked in front of the huge house.  A chilled looking valet took the keys to the Range Rover and Harvey headed for the front door.  He adjusted his cuffs, pulled the signed confidentiality agreement from the inside pocket of his tux, and sauntered inside.  After he’d handed over the document and it was inspected, his overcoat was whisked away, a flute of champagne pressed into his hand and he was ushered into a huge space done up like an ancient Roman...sexatorium.  If there was no such term, then Harvey decided it should be coined just for Hart’s Bacchanalia.

Low seats and plush pillows littered the main room, one third of which had been dedicated to a low platform surrounded by an assortment of bondage equipment.  Sheer, gauzy drapery hung from the ceiling, and moved gently in the warm, scented air.  A fire burned cozily in a huge fireplace set into one wall.  A couple of dozen guests had already arrived, and their clothing varied from formal, to leather, to latex, to nothing but a collar and leash.

Harvey nodded politely to the federal judge he recognized kneeling naked at the feet of a statuesque redhead in a shiny blue dress who, for an alarming microsecond, he mistook for Donna.  A quick visual scan showed him that Mike was not in the room.  A network anchorman mingled with sports figures, a closeted actor, a record producer, and an assortment of less well known men and woman who could have bought and sold all of the famous ones several times over.

Harvey spent a couple of minutes mingling, sipping champagne, making small talk and admiring the technique of the judge, who was now at work enthusiastically blowing the closeted actor.  Despite what he’d told Donna about his preferences, it did make for compelling viewing, and he was certain that the next time one of his cases came before his honor, he would have this image playing through his head.  He would have to wait and see whether or not that was a good thing.

The party wasn’t scheduled to start for nearly half an hour though, so these must be the more eager of the guests, or maybe, like him, they had wanted to beat the weather.  He downed the rest of his champagne while wandering through several other rooms, all decorated in the same style.  Towards the back of the house, he heard raised voices.  Curious, he set his empty glass on a table and detoured in that direction.  Hart and two large men wearing t-shirts with “Security” printed on the back were arguing heatedly.

“How could he have left?” Hart was saying.  “His shoes are still upstairs.  And his phone.  And his wallet.  What the hell am I paying you cretins for?”

“Larry, is there a problem?”

All three men broke off from trying to talk over one another and stared at Harvey.  After a moment of frozen surprise, Hart’s face broke into a pleased smile.

“Harvey.  You came.”  He settled his hand on Harvey’s arm.  “My god.  You look fantastic.  James Bond, anyone?  I’m so glad you’re here.  I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

Harvey stepped back, shedding Hart’s hand.  “I don’t intend to be.  Disappointed, that is.  I’m glad I caught you now.  Tell me, how much would it take to reserve Mike Ross for the entire night?”

The warmth drained from Hart’s face and he exchanged a look with the two security guards.  “Mike Ross?”

Harvey nodded at the staircase.  “He is here, isn’t he?”  He was watching Hart closely, and saw something like distress flicker over his features.

“There’s -- He was, yes.  But I’m afraid we have something of a mystery on our hands.”

Unease touched Harvey but he set it aside.  “Meaning?”

“Meaning that Mike seems to have disappeared.”

“ _Disappeared?_   Are you shitting me?  Have you looked for him?”

“Of course we’ve looked for him.  And that woman keeps calling, says she has urgent news, but -- ”  Here, he threw up his hands.  “He went downstairs an hour and a half ago, and no one’s seen him since.”

Harvey tried to make sense of what Hart was saying.  “First of all, what woman?”

“Well, she won’t say.  She’ll only talk to him.  And frankly, Harvey, I don’t have time for this.  The snow has thrown everything off.  People are arriving already, I’m not even dressed yet, and now my main attraction has gone missing.  It’s a complete disaster.”

Harvey took a deep, calming breath, refusing to succumb to the dark worry that was growing inside of him.  “Okay.  Let me help.  Start from the beginning and tell me what’s happened.”

Hart was shaking his head before Harvey had finished speaking.  “I just told you.  I don’t have time for this.  You.”  He pointed at one of the security guards.  “Take Mr. Specter upstairs.  A couple of my girls saw him leave.  You can talk to them.”  He started to turn away, but then stopped and wagged a finger at Harvey.  “And no sampling, Harvey.”  He hurried off, leaving Harvey alone with the two guards.

“Which floor?” Harvey asked, starting up the stairs.

“Third,” came the bored voice behind him.

Harvey had just made it to the top of the stairs when a pretty blonde girl in a monogrammed bathrobe came running over, holding a phone in front of her.  “They’re calling aga -- Oh.  Who are you?”

“Who’s calling?”  Harvey reached for the phone, but the girl pulled it out of his reach.  He held out his hand, glaring at her.  “Is that Mike’s phone?”

“You know him?”

Suppressing a growl, Harvey nodded.  “Yes.  I know Mike.  And I’ve been given to understand that he has disappeared.  Give me the phone.”  He snatched it from her hand just as it stopped ringing.  He glanced at the screen and saw that the call was from “Lennox Hill Total Care.”  He frowned.  He’d call the number back in a minute, but first things first.  “What’s your name?”

Harvey was amused to see her give him the elevator eyes before answering.  “Cindy.  And what’s your name?”

“My name is Harvey, and I need you to tell me about Mike.  When did you last see him?  How did he seem?”

She appeared uncertain.  “You’re his friend?”

Harvey wasn’t sure as to the correct answer, but he knew he didn’t have time right then to work that out.  “Yes.  I’m Mike’s friend.”

After a few moments of indecision which had Harvey wanting to yell his frustration at her, Cindy finally said, “He seemed...different than the rest of -- ”  She gestured around the room at her colleagues, who looked bored and were in varying stages of undress.  “The rest of them.  He was all friendly in the car.  At least until him and Brian got into it a little.  He shut up after that.  And then when we got here, he seemed fine again, but he comes back from the bathroom and man, I’m telling you, the look on his face....My mom used to have these crazy panic attacks, and he had the same look.  Just took off.  Left his locker wide open.  Didn’t even put his shoes on.”  She lowered her voice.  “I had to keep a couple of these other assholes away from his stuff.”  She turned her glare on a thin, dark-haired boy whose only reaction was to turn away, eyes blank.  “Pretty scary, huh?”

Harvey rubbed his temple with two fingers.  “How long ago did Mike leave?”

“It was just after six because my alarm beeped for me to take my medication, and that’s when I noticed him dragging his clothes back on.  I didn’t think nothing of it but then his phone started ringing, like half an hour later.  The lady sounded real anxious to talk to him.  Wouldn’t leave a message.”

Harvey nodded, thinking.  “Which one is Brian?”

She pointed at a naked blonde boy who stood in front of a full length mirror, applying eyeliner to his ridiculously large eyes.  “Thank you Cindy, you’ve been a big help.”

She smiled.  “Sure thing.  Come see me later, during, you know, the party.”

Harvey walked up behind Brian and their eyes met in the mirror.  Brian gave him a look probably meant to be sultry.  “Brian, I’m Harvey.  I understand you knew Mike before tonight.  Is that correct?”

Brian shrugged and went back to examining his makeup job.  “I think I met him once.”  He smiled to himself.  “On Christmas, as a matter of fact.  He was a really hot fuck.”  He met Harvey’s eyes again in the mirror.  “I’m not surprised he bolted.”

“And why is that?”

Turning around, Brian ran a finger across Harvey’s lapel.  “If you’re gonna do, you know, _this_ , for any length of time, you’ve got to toughen up fast.  Grow a real thick skin.  Guard yourself.  Mike...I know he’s been around for a bit.  But he still reacts to everything like a total innocent.  I’m pretty sure it’s not even an act.  That’s probably what appeals to his clients, why he’s so much in demand, but you can’t stay that way and survive.  Who knows?  Maybe tonight it all caught up with him.”  He gave another shrug.  “Too bad for him, but more business for the rest of us.”

Harvey didn’t know how to respond to that, so he gave a grunt and turned away.  He looked down at the phone in his hand and moved into the hallway as he redialed the number for Lennox Hill Total Care.

“This is Mike Ross,” he told the woman who answered.

“Oh, Mr. Ross, thank goodness.  Thank you for calling us back.”  A pause.  “I’m so very sorry.”

Harvey frowned, not liking the sound of that.  “For....?”

“Your grandmother’s recent illness had weakened her.  Her system simply wasn’t up for another round.  She passed away this evening around six o’clock.  She went peacefully.  Please accept our most sincere condolences.  The staff here all adored her.  And rest assured.  The advance payments you made will be returned, after any outstanding expenses are deducted.  But we can discuss that later.”  Another pause.  “Mr. Ross?”

“I....”  For one of the rare times in his life, Harvey was at a loss for words.  “I’ll have to call you back.”  He hung up to the sound of her talking about the arrangements that would need to be made.

Mike had never mentioned a grandmother.  Was she the reason he had needed money?  Harvey had heard of Lennox Hill, and knew it to be one of the better nursing facilities in New York, and one of the priciest. 

Why had Mike taken off so suddenly?  Had someone else already given him the news about his grandmother?  He let his gaze move around the room.  He doubted that any of these...kids knew any more than he’d already been told, but he’d question them all before he went back downstairs to put a foot up the ass of the nearest security guard and get an organized search started.

 

Harvey had grabbed Hart by the back of his toga and dragged him into a relatively quiet corner, where they were arguing over the need to alert the authorities to Mike’s disappearance, when Harvey’s phone rang.  A glance at the screen showed him it was an unknown caller.

“Yes?” he answered unable to keep the sharp impatience from his voice.

Static filled the line for a few seconds, then came a whispered word, too low for him to make out.  Hart tried to take advantage of the distraction and slip away, but Harvey latched firmly onto his arm and didn’t let go.  “Who the hell is this?” he snarled into the phone, and strained to listen.  The reply, when it came, had both hope and fear churning inside of him.

“Oh god.  _Harvey._   He’s dead.”

Harvey recognized the voice, but -- _he’s_ dead?  Not _she_?  Hadn’t it been Mike’s grandmother who had passed away?  “Mike,” he finally said, “is that you?”

“Harvey.  Yeah.  It’s me.”

Pent up worry mixed with confusion made his voice harsher than he intended.  “Where the hell are you?  They’ve been searching for you for hours.”  _We’ve been searching for you._   _I’ve been searching._

Mike’s next words pierced straight through whatever bits of armor Harvey still possessed.  “Harvey, please.  I need help.  I need you.”

He breathed out, forcing himself to relax.  “I’m here, Mike.”

Hart had stopped trying to escape and was watching Harvey’s face intently.

“Where are you?” Harvey asked.

“I -- I don’t know.  A motel.  I don’t know where it is.  He drove me here.  He wanted -- _Oh god_.”

Harvey dropped Hart’s arm and turned slightly away, giving his full attention to the voice on the phone.  “Mike, I need you to calm down and tell me, as succinctly as possible, what’s going on.  Take a few deep breaths for me, all right?”  He waited a several seconds, then prodded Mike further.  “Is anybody there with you?  Are you in any danger right now?”

Mike’s voice returned, calmer, but still edged with trembling panic.  “George.  George Fordnam.  He is -- was -- a client.”

Harvey turned slightly so he could see Hart’s face.  “George Fordnam?  Did you leave here with him?”  Hart made an exaggerated grimace, presumably indicating that this was not a good thing.

“Did I -- Where are you Harvey?”

“I’m at Lawrence Hart’s house in Connecticut.”

“You’re at his party?  What the hell?”

“I’ll explain later.  Let’s stay focused on what’s important.  You left with this Fordnam and drove to a motel?”

“No!  I mean...sort of.  I was getting some air and he jumped me.  He was drunk...acting crazy and...”  He gave a long exhalation of air.  “I think he had a heart attack or something.  He collapsed on top of me and...”

Harvey gave Hart a sympathetic look while he said, “You’re sure he’s dead?”  Hart’s face took on a look of shocked grief.

“Positive,” Mike said.

Harvey was putting two and two together in his mind, and what it was adding up to didn’t give him any reason to summon up sympathy for the recently deceased George Fordnam.  At least Mike seemed to have calmed down some.  Harvey still needed to give him the news about his grandmother, but he’d wait until he could do it in person.

“Okay,” Harvey finally said.  “Here’s what we’re going to do.  Look around the room and find something with the name and address of the motel.  I’ll be right here.  Go ahead.”  He could hear sounds of Mike moving around the motel room, opening and closing drawers, and then he was back, reading off the address.  “Good boy.  Now listen to me carefully.  I’m on my way to you.  I’m leaving right now.  What I need you to do is hang up and dial 911.”  Mike started to object, but Harvey spoke over him, keeping his tone firm and calm.  “All you need to do is report Fordnam’s death.  With the way the roads are tonight, it’s a tossup who gets there first, me or the EMTs, or coroner, or whoever they choose to send.  If the police arrive and want to question you, tell them your attorney is on the way.  Just stay quiet and wait until I get there.  Now, have you got all that?”

“I don’t know....” 

“Mike.  It’s going to be fine.  From what you’ve told me, you did nothing wrong, so there’s nothing to worry about.  You’ve got my phone number.  I’ll be there just as soon as I can.  I promise.”  He waited for a reply, but heard only shaky, erratic breathing.  “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” Mike whispered.  “Thank you, Harvey.”  He hung up the phone.

Harvey was rapidly entering the motel’s address into his phone’s navigation app when Hart spoke.  “George grabbed Mike?  Is that why he disappeared?”

Slowly raising his gaze to Hart’s, Harvey saw the unease on the other man’s face.  “What do you know about all of this, Larry?”

“Nothing.  Well, I knew George was in the midst of some sort of break with reality.  His wife dumped him, you see.  And all their money was hers.  He’d been harassing me for weeks, trying to get Mike’s address.  I didn’t have it -- not that I’d have given it to him if I did.  I didn’t even send him an invitation this year.”

“But he knew the location?”

“Well, yes.  He’s been to my parties before.”

Harvey’s hand clenched into a fist as he studied Hart’s nervous expression.  “Did it occur to you, Larry, to warn Mike about the man?”

“But he _knew_ , Harvey.  George was calling him too, dozens of times every day.  Please believe me, I’d never want any harm to come to Mike.  I’m really very fond of him.”

Harvey nodded, feeling dark anger building inside of him.  He headed for the front door, not wishing to vent his anger on Hart, even though he suspected he deserved some of it.  He could hear Hart hurrying behind him, his leather sandals slapping on the floor.

“What can I do to help, Harvey?  I’d come with you but -- ”

“But you’ve got guests to attend to.  Don’t worry Larry, I’ve got this handled.”

He strode out the front door and then had to wait while the valet retrieved the Range Rover.  Just as the SUV pulled up in front of the house, Hart appeared again, carrying Harvey’s overcoat, and a smaller bundle which Harvey recognized as Mike’s shoes and other belongings.

“I’m serious about helping, Harvey.  If Mike runs into any trouble over this, I have connections I can use.”

Harvey turned to him.  “Larry, if Mike runs into any more trouble over this, you’re going to need those connections.”  It was an empty and rather pointless threat, but the look of shock it brought to Hart’s face made it well worth it.  He climbed into the Range Rover and drove off into the night, hoping that Mike could hold it together long enough for him to reach him.


	19. Chapter 19

Mike glanced again towards the open door of the motel room. Fordnam’s body had been removed fifteen minutes earlier, but one uniformed officer and two detectives were still inside, “processing the scene.” He wasn’t sure how a death by heart attack warranted two homicide detectives, and he wondered if he should be worried.

After a handful of questions to determine the basic facts, he’d been asked to wait in the back of the patrol car. The _locked_ patrol car, he’d soon found out, when he’d tried to voice a request that the heat be turned on in the car, since his bare feet were beginning to feel like flesh icicles, especially after walking the ten stops from the motel room in the snow. Since he hadn’t been able to speak to anyone, he had resorted to removing his coat and wrapping it around his feet, and folding his arms around his chest. Shivers convulsed him every so often and he wished they would wrap up their pointless investigation and return to the car before he froze to death.

He glanced in the rearview mirror and then twisted in the seat, searching for any sign of Harvey. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d called him, but it felt like hours.

Harvey had been at Hart’s house when Mike called him. How weird was that? He mulled it over and decided it wasn’t actually that weird after all. Harvey and Larry were acquainted, and Harvey had evidently been invited to the party. If Mike hadn’t been so _stupid_ as to go wandering around in the dark and get himself kidnapped, he would probably be there right now. And maybe he’d have his mouth stuffed full of Harvey’s cock right now, or maybe he’d be upstairs in one of the private rooms being fucked by Harvey. Or he’d be upstairs being fucked by someone else while Harvey made polite conversation down below, or availed himself of one of the other pretty boys and girls.

Mike sighed and gave a full body shiver, only partly due to the cold this time.

Finally, the two detectives returned and one slid into the back seat next to Mike while the other sat in the front passenger seat, angling his body slightly so he could watch Mike.

“So, Mike,” said the older detective sitting next to Mike -- Detective Green, Mike recalled, “you stated earlier that you were at a party, but you’re not sure of the location, and you were abducted by the deceased and driven here against your will. Do I have that right?”

Harvey’s instructions from earlier flashed through his mind, not to answer any questions until he got there. But how could it hurt to tell the truth? He hadn’t done anything wrong. So he cleared his throat, and then nodded. “Yes, that’s basically what happened. And, um, do you think you could turn the heat on? I’m kind of freezing here.”

Detective Green exchanged a look with his partner, Detective Simpson, as if they were silently debating whether this was the right strategy. Simpson shrugged, turned the key in the ignition, and adjusted the controls so that toasty warm air finally filled the small space.

Green sniffed once and continued. “Why did you bring the gun, Mike?”

The question was so surprising that Mike could only goggle stupidly at the older man for half a minute before stuttering, “I-I-It-It’s not mine. H-he brought it. I didn’t bring it.”

“And when we lift the prints from it, we won’t find any of yours?”

Mike felt his breaths growing unsteady, lungs tight and constricted. He could clearly remember the feel of the gun when Fordnam had pressed it into his hand and forced his fingers around it. He looked uneasily between the two somber faced detectives. “I held it. I did, but he made me.” He could hear how idiotic that sounded, but before he could explain the circumstances, Simpson spoke up.

“We also found a rather sizeable amount of cash in the room.”

“Okay,” said Mike. He saw where this was heading, but could only sit like a small, desperate woodland creature caught in a trap and think longingly of chewing his own foot off.

“Here’s how I think it went down,” said Green. “You solicited Mr. Fordnam somewhere, maybe in a bar or restaurant, and he drove you here for the purpose of having sex. You saw the amount of cash he had on him, and decided to rob him instead. At which point he suffered a fatal heart attack and died.” He paused watching Mike closely. “How did I do, Mike? That about how it happened?”

“No,” Mike whispered, and shook his head vigorously. “He was suicidal and talking crazy. He wanted me to kill him but I refused. And then -- ” He broke off, replaying in his mind that moment with Fordnam on top of him, forcing his way in. He shuddered. “He just collapsed.”

“Did you attempt to revive him? Did you administer CPR?”

“I -- No! He was just so... _dead_ looking. It didn’t even occur to me. I mean, there was nothing I could do.”

The detectives were exchanging another enigmatic look. “So,” said Simpson, “you picked him up at a bar, or wherever, and when you arrived here, he asked you to kill him? I suppose he offered to pay you handsomely for the favor?”

“Look, everything I’ve told you is the truth. I’m not talking to you anymore. My attorney is on the way here right now, so....”

Green gave a low laugh. “You thought to call your attorney. That’s interesting. Was this before or after you called 911?”

“Hey, Mike,” Simpson interjected, “I notice you haven’t bothered to deny your profession. For the record, you are a whore, correct?”

Mike crossed his arms and stared out the window.

“Word of advice,” Green said, gesturing towards Mike’s feet, “always dress for the weather. You never know when you might be walking home.”

Another look passed between the two men, which ended when Detective Simpson gave a subtle nod and exited the vehicle, disappearing back inside the motel room and pulling the uniformed officer in with him.

“It occurs to me, Mike,” said Green, when they were alone, “that you may possibly be telling the truth. You could have hid the money from us, or the gun. You could have left without calling anyone.” He was turned slightly towards Mike, and now he moved his hand to rest on the seat near Mike’s shoulder. “I don’t pretend to know what goes on in the minds of people like you...trash like you, I should say. And I don’t care, particularly. But I hate to see this kind of criminal behavior creep into my jurisdiction. Prostitution. Armed robbery. These are not things we take lightly. But, hey. It’s the holiday season, and maybe we can find a way to make this all go away.”

Mike eyed him warily. He took another glance at the rearview mirror. The parking lot was nearly empty, dark and cold, with lazy drifts of snow still falling. He swallowed noisily. “I’m listening.”

“You struck me right away as a smart kid.” Green gave his hair a playful tousle. “If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ve probably already worked out what you need to do to.” He waited, but Mike said nothing. “Okay, I’ll spell it out for you. All you have to do is blow me right now, make it real good, and you’re free to go.”

Mike held himself ramrod straight, and another layer of cold seeped inside of him. “Is this, like, a joke?”

Green brushed a finger down the side of Mike’s face to his jaw. “It’s not a joke. Where’s the problem? It’s just a quick BJ, Mike. You must have done this thousand of times. What’s one more?”

Mike turned his head and stared out the window. A fresh wave of weariness washed through him. Was there something stamped on his forehead, for fuck’s sake? Maybe he should have had his horoscope done, or consulted a magic eight ball before he left the house today -- or any day, lately. He longed for his crappy apartment and his lumpy mattress with a desperation that made his head hurt. He wanted to drink himself senseless and sleep for a week, but here was this asshole, backing him into a corner.

What was one more? Green had a point, but what he didn’t get was that even a whore had a right to say no. Mike dearly wanted to say no. He also wanted to get out of here and go home. Getting thrown in jail on some ridiculous trumped up charges did not fit into his future plans. So he nodded tiredly. “Sure. Why not? Just you, or a round for the house?”

Green laughed. _Laughed._ “My partner isn’t interested in you, but I’m not so picky. It’s been my experience that you boys really know what to do with a dick down your throat. Go on now. Have at it. Convince me that this is all just a big misunderstanding.”

Mike wanted to say that he understood perfectly, but he’d made his choice. So he slid to his knees on the floor of the patrol car and reached for Green’s belt. He unfastened his pants and slid the zipper down, moving on autopilot to free Green’s half-hard cock, while part of his mind was noting the cheap feel of the polyester blend slacks, so different from what his wealthy clients wore.

He sucked the head of Green’s cock between his lips, tongued the slit, and lowered his head, hollowing his cheeks and dragging his tongue up and down the underside. Green grasped his head, nails dragging through Mike’s hair, digging into his scalp, just short of painful.

“That’s it, boy,” Green groaned. “ _Fuck_ , that’s good. Take it all, now.” He thrust upwards and Mike was experienced enough by now that he didn’t choke or gag, just swallowed him down until his nose was buried in wiry pubic hair. He shut his eyes and did his best to shut off his mind as well, treating the humiliating moment like another task to apply himself to, and judging by the noises above him, he was performing well.

He bobbed his head up and down, meeting Green’s rough thrusts, swirling his tongue and sucking hard, determined to get the man off as quickly as possible. He was only vaguely aware of lights playing across his eyelids, and a slamming car door, and then, just as Green gave a guttural yell, clutched Mike’s head harder and came down his throat, the patrol door opened. With Green’s cock still in his mouth, as he was swallowing his come, Mike opened his eyes and a bright flash of light went off inches away, followed by several more. He let Green’s cock slip out from between his lips, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Don’t stop on my account,” came a cold voice. “You’re very photogenic. But then, I already knew that.”

Harvey. _Shit_.

Detective Green was cursing, tucking himself in and zipping up with impressive speed. Mike was focused on Harvey, though, who was leaning against the open car door next to Mike and swiping a finger across the screen of his phone. He turned the screen towards Mike and Green, revealing a perfectly clear shot of the act they had just performed.

Mike had never heard anyone literally sputter before, but he couldn’t come up with another word to describe the sounds Green was currently making. It would have been wildly funny if Mike wasn’t so aware of the disappointed glower Harvey was giving him.

“Harvey -- ” he began.

“You,” said Harvey, pointing a finger at Mike. He cut himself off with an effort and abruptness that was visible, and continued in a gentler tone, “probably shouldn’t speak. Nod if you understand.”

Mike nodded. When Harvey turned his attention to Green, Mike surreptitiously reached up to wipe spit and semen from his chin and lips.

“I’m assuming you’re what passes for law enforcement around here?” Harvey waited a couple of seconds but Green only sagged back in the seat and stared up at the ceiling. “I’ll take your silence as a yes. I’m willing to bet that even in these parts soliciting sex acts from witnesses is a rather major no-no. So I really should have you brought up on charges. But right now, I’m tired and irritated, and I don’t have the patience for this bullshit. Mike and I are going to leave now, and I’m certain that you’ll do whatever needs to be done to exclude his name from any official reports regarding George Fordnam’s death. If that doesn’t happen -- and I will be following up to make sure that it has -- well, I’m sure your superiors would be interested in the pictures on my phone.” He waited, but Green maintained a stubborn silence. Harvey sighed. “Your turn. Nod if you understand.”

Green shot him a venomous look and gave a tight nod.

“Excellent. Come on kid, let’s go.”

He turned away, leaving Mike to awkwardly pry himself off the floor and out of the car. When his bare feet made contact with the compacted snow on the ground, he cursed under his breath. Thankfully, Harvey was parked in the next space over. He climbed into the dark SUV and let out a breath. Harvey’s expression was closed off and angry. Mike wasn’t sure how much of that was directed at him, but for the moment he didn’t care. For the first time that night, he didn’t feel like the ceiling was about to collapse on him.

Without being asked, Harvey turned the heat on high and then reached into the backseat. He turned back around and handed Mike what he recognized as the sneakers he’d left at Hart’s house, with his warm socks tucked neatly inside. He’d known that Harvey was at Hart’s party, but this seemed like some sort of magical conjuration, and for several seconds Mike could only stare at the shoes dangling from Harvey’s fingers, a ridiculous lump in his throat.

“Well?” Harvey said. “Put them on.”

Mike nodded dumbly and took the shoes from Harvey. He pulled the socks on, leaving the shoes on the floor near his feet, and it felt like the greatest of luxuries, to have warm feet, to be warm.

To feel safe.

Mike gave Harvey a sideways glance. He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t get a read on Harvey in the dark. He thought he saw anger in the set of his mouth, but wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or Detective Green. He opened his mouth to speak, to explain what had happened, why Harvey had found him with another man’s cock down his throat, but closed his mouth again without saying anything. He listened to the chained tires crunching over packed snow as Harvey backed up and drove out of the parking lot, handling the big SUV expertly in the snow.

They made it to the freeway easily. It looked like the plow had been by earlier, and traffic was light. Mike leaned the seat back a little and closed his eyes, trying to relax, but his gaze kept being drawn to Harvey’s profile, to his hands, sure and capable on the wheel, and his thigh, close enough that Mike could reach over and touch it. He kept his hands to himself, though, and after a few minutes the quiet inside the car began to unnerve him more than a little.

“Harvey,” he began, and had to stop because he still didn’t know what to say. Finally, he blurted out, “Why were you at Hart’s party?” And then he winced, because that wasn’t what he’d intended to say at all.

Harvey turned and gave him a level stare before going back to watching the road. “You sure you want to know the answer to that?”

Mike _wasn’t_ sure, and he bit his lip to keep from replying. Harvey sighed, and then apparently decided to tell him, regardless.

“I went there to find you.”

Could that be true? Because….”How did you even know I’d be there?”

One side of Harvey’s mouth quirked enigmatically. He reached into an inside pocked and pulled out an expensive looking envelope addressed to him at his law firm. Mike opened the envelope and pulled out a card, which turned out to be an invitation. He recognized the photo of himself on the front of the card, and stared down at it for a full minute, fighting down a confusing mixture of disappointment and pride. He held the card toward Harvey. “Is this who you went there to meet?”

Harvey shrugged.

Mike said with an edge to his voice, “Did you bring your checkbook? Or was it a cash only affair?”

“Mike….”

He waved Harvey off, not sure why he even cared. It had always been about money with them, right from the start. He’d hoped, though….He laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so pissy.” He gave a bitter laugh. “To tell you the truth, it’s been kind of a shitty night.”

He heard Harvey’s nearly noiseless sigh, then gave a jump when he felt Harvey’s hand on his leg, a gentle touch, caressing just above his knee. He turned to look at Harvey and saw him giving him quick sidewise glances, expression weirdly compassionate. “What?” he asked. Unease began to unfurl inside his chest. He tried for a smile. “I don’t know if I can take any more surprises tonight.” But Harvey didn’t smile back, just continued with that strange, careful assessment.

Mike frowned. “What aren’t you telling me? Did Hart fire me? It’s okay. Really, _really_ okay. You may not believe it, but tonight was going to be the last time. My last hurrah. I’m…I have plenty saved up to last me for a while, enough for Grammy and….” He thought briefly of telling Harvey about his future plans, but then decided that he was overtired and beginning to babble, diverting attention from the scene back at the motel. Harvey probably couldn’t give a shit anyway.

“Grammy?” said Harvey, raising an eyebrow.

Mike gave him a suspicious look, but didn’t see anything that looked even the slightest bit like mockery in his expression. “My grandmother. It’s what I call her.” He glared at the side of Harvey’s face, waiting to defend himself from any snide remarks regarding the nickname he had used ever since he was a little boy.

Harvey only heaved a deep, weary sigh and then unexpectedly, without saying a word, took the next exit and pulled into the deserted parking lot of a strip mall. He turned the key in the ignition and the smooth purr of the engine cut out, leaving only the quiet and the night and the snow.

If it had been any other night, Mike might have been shivering in anticipation of whatever Harvey was planning, but like he’d told Harvey, he’d had too many unpleasant surprises in the last few hours. Trying to act nonchalant, he unfastened his seatbelt and let the fingers of his right hand rest on the door handle. Just in case.

Harvey had unfastened his seatbelt as well, and turned himself toward Mike as much as he could in the confining space. “Mike,” he said, voice solemn and gentle, “I hate like hell to have to do this, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Mike’s mind went momentarily blank. Bad news? How could Harvey have bad news that affected Mike? How could anyone, for that matter? Bad news was for people with friends and family, and Mike didn’t have any friends anymore, not really, and the only family he had was….

_Grammy._

He’d mentioned Grammy, and just like that, Harvey had pulled the car over. So… _ergo…._

Cold invaded him, sweeping through him like an Arctic blast. He realized he was shaking his head.

“No.”

_Stop talking. Don’t say the words. Don’t make it real._

“Mike, I’m so sorry.”

Mike barely heard Harvey over the roaring in his ears. His eyes were squeezed shut and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. “No. That’s – “

Harvey’s voice continued, uncharacteristically soft. “You left your phone behind. Lennox Hill called you repeatedly. Your grandmother passed around six o’clock, peacefully, they said.”

And there it was. It had been spoken aloud. It was true. But it couldn’t be true. It had to be some kind of sick joke. Fate’s sick, twisted idea of humor. Because what had Mike been doing all these months, why had he put himself through all of this, let himself be used and humiliated by all of those countless men, if Grammy was gone?

It felt as if everything had been pulled out from underneath him, all his foundations shattered to pieces. He was in freefall, breath frozen in his lungs, waiting for the landing that would surely obliterate him.

A hand touched his shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and without any thought behind his action, as if Harvey’s gravitational pull had drawn him, he turned and reached for the one solid, substantial point in his world and collapsed onto Harvey’s thigh, hands grasping, clinging. Air rushed back into his lungs in a wracking sob, followed by another and another. And he lay there, bereft, twisted awkwardly across the middle console, holding on for dear life, and wept out his grief into Harvey’s expensive trouser leg.

******

_Shit._

Harvey stared down at the head in his lap, at the shaking shoulders and convulsing back, and felt like a monster. He’d wanted to wait to break the news to Mike, at least until he had him at home and they had some privacy and he could offer him a bracing drink to help him cope. Then Mike had mentioned his grandmother, and it had seemed too much of a lie to let Mike go on believing he still shared the world with her. Telling him had seemed cruel, but keeping the knowledge from him seemed…disrespectful, somehow.

Now, he questioned his decision, wishing there was room in the SUV to wrap Mike up in his arms and let him bawl against his neck. He set his hand on Mike’s head, allowing him to feel his presence and his support. Mike’s hands tightened on his leg and he seemed to cry harder for a few minutes. It was painful to listen to, and Harvey found himself with a lump in his throat. He kept contact with Mike’s head and ran his other hand down his back, rubbing slow circles into the clenching muscles while leaning his head close to Mike’s and murmuring words of comfort in his ear.

“Sshh. It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. Let it all out. I’m here.”

He didn’t know how long they stayed that way. The dark and the snow cocooned them, heightening the intimacy of the moment.

Finally, Mike’s sobs slowed, his trembling subsided, he took several deep, shaky breaths, sniffed a few times, and slowly straightened up. Harvey kept a hand on his shoulder, studying his downcast face. He reached into a pocket and extracted a neatly folded handkerchief, which he extended to Mike. When, after a few moments, the boy didn’t take it, Harvey reached over and carefully wiped the salty moisture from Mike’s face and neck, while Mike sat passively, staring down at his own lap.

Harvey considered his next move, his next words. He did not excel at this sort of thing, but he wanted to get it right, for Mike’s sake. He tightened his fingers slightly on Mike’s shoulder and was rewarded when Mike turned to face him, eyes like huge blue crystals in his wrecked face.

“I’m taking you home, Mike,” Harvey said. “Is that all right with you?”

After one unsteady breath, Mike nodded. Then he leaned back and turned his head toward the window, gaze focused on something Harvey couldn’t see. As Harvey started the engine and headed back to the highway, he heard Mike’s faint whisper, just barely audible over the crunch of the tires.

“Thank you, Harvey.”

_For what? Giving you the worst news of your life?_ Harvey’s lips pressed together, pissed off on Mike’s behalf. He did his best not to let his anger show when he answered Mike. “Yeah,” he said. And after that they were both silent for the rest of the trip back to Manhattan.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Mike didn’t want to think, pleaded with his mind to shut up for a while, but he couldn’t seem to turn it off or put any order to his thoughts. He watched the snowy scenery speed by as Harvey drove at nearly the speed limit on the slick freeway. Normally, Mike would have been cringing and clutching the seat or bracing his hand against the dashboard. After his parents had died in a head on collision, he’d never been comfortable in cars even under the best of conditions. But a combination of numb shock and unthinking trust in Harvey’s driving skill had him both uncaring and unafraid.

He was grateful for the silence, grateful to Harvey for instinctively understanding what he needed right now. He couldn’t bear to recall the emotional display he’d put on. Tomorrow he would probably be remembering his ugly crying and clinginess, would probably be filled with shame at his weakness, but right now he didn’t have the strength to be concerned about such trivial things.

The wound inside of him, the gaping hole left by Grammy’s passing, was too big for words, so painful that his mind and heart shied away every time he tried to slow his thoughts and consider it head on. His mind kept circling crazily around and around, like a crippled airplane with nowhere to land.

Harvey had said she’d passed around six o’clock. That was just about the time his panic attack hit at Hart’s place. He knew it wasn’t logical, but he couldn’t completely dismiss the idea that the two things were related. Maybe he would have freaked out regardless, but it was such a coincidence. Had he somehow sensed it when she left the world?

Tangled up with that obsessive train of thought was a sort of toxic, incoherent mingling of guilt and rage at the unfairness of it. He’d neglected Grammy these past few weeks, unable to visit since he’d been so busy pursuing his “profession.” If only he’d quit sooner, even one day sooner, he would have had a chance to say goodbye. But he’d been too busy, too fucking busy -- _too busy fucking,_ his mind gibbered at him -- doing precisely what he knew she hated, what pained her and disappointed her, more than the drugs, more than the cheating, more than the utter waste his life had become. Time might heal all wounds, but he couldn’t see how that ugly stain would ever be washed clean.

He became aware suddenly that the car was slowing, and he blinked and looked around, realizing that they had finally arrived. He glanced over at Harvey. Like Mike, he seemed deep in his own thoughts. Mike remembered then that he had agreed to go home with Harvey, but he balked now at the idea, no longer trusting in his own ability to make sound decisions.

The way he felt at this moment, he just wanted to barricade himself inside his own apartment, crawl under the covers, and maybe stay there for a day or a week or forever. Paradoxically, he was terrified at the idea of being left alone at the mercy of his own thoughts.

He cleared his throat, wincing at the soreness there, and grimacing as he remembered how he had come by that particular pain. “Harvey?”

Harvey seemed to pull himself back from somewhere deep inside himself. “Hm?”

“You don’t have to....I mean, I don’t know, maybe it would be better if I just went home. To my place.”

They were stopped at a red light. Harvey turned and gave him a searching look. “No. That’s a bad idea. I don’t want you spending tonight alone.”

Mike digested that, feeling something ease inside him at having someone else make the decision for him. His expression must still have conveyed skepticism because Harvey continued, “I promise I won’t bother you. You can have as much or as little company as you want. You can stay in the spare bedroom, or you can sleep on the couch in front of the television. Or you can come to bed with me if you don’t want to sleep alone.” He quirked a faint smile. “Fair warning, though. I’ll expect you to keep your hands to yourself.”

Mike gave a huff of laughter, with just the barest thimbleful of humor in it, and was surprised that he could find it in himself for even that much. He considered Harvey’s offer, turning it over and over in his mind.

The light turned green, and Harvey continued on through an early morning Manhattan eerily deserted in the wake of the unexpected snowfall.

“All right,” Mike finally replied, wincing at the hoarse, wrecked sound of his own voice.

He remained quiet until Harvey pulled into the underground parking garage beneath his building, parked in a numbered spot, and turned off the engine, leaving them in a silence which was complete expect for a faint buzzing from the fluorescent lighting overhead. Mike fumbled to unlatch his seatbelt. When Harvey started to open his own door, Mike put a hand on his arm, halting him. He could feel the other man’s tension through the layers of clothing, and slowly withdrew his hand.

Mike lowered his gaze, focusing on the gearshift between them, unable to meet the intensity in Harvey’s eyes, confused by what it might mean.

“I don’t get it, Harvey,” he rasped. He took a quick sideways glance and had to look away from Harvey’s raised eyebrow and sardonic expression. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“ _What_?”

Mike gulped a little at the sharp anger in that one word. “Well, you drove all the way to Connecticut to find me, left Hart’s party to come for me, drove for hours in the snow. And then….” He trailed off, not wanting to put words to the humiliating scene Harvey had interrupted, and trusting that Harvey could fill in the blanks. “I mean, let’s face it. After the choices I’ve made since we met…you must think I’m….”

_Disgusting. Filthy. Damaged. Worthless. Weak._

Mike shook his head, annoyed at the struggle to express himself clearly. “I’m nothing to you. So, why? Why even bother with me?”

Harvey sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The quiet that fell between them was interrupted by the whir of machinery as the entry gate opened, and then a few seconds later closed. A silver Lexus drove into the garage with an echoing squeal of tires and parked a few spaces from them. A man and woman exited the car and headed for the elevator, holding hands and laughing at some joke they’d shared.

“Mike,” Harvey finally said, “we can have this discussion right now, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to wait until tomorrow – or rather, later today. I’m tired, you’re tired, and your emotions are understandably raw right now.”

He had a point, but as tired as Mike was, he was also feeling wary and more than a little stubborn. “Just tell me… _please tell me_ ….what do you want from me? What are you expecting here?”

Something flashed in Harvey’s dark eyes as he regarded Mike somberly. “Not a goddamn thing.”

A quick, sharp spike of hurt at that. “Really?” Mike asked, voice drenched in skepticism. Harvey’s mouth tightened, and Mike immediately regretted his tone, remembering how sweet and achingly _kind_ the other man had been when Mike had broken down over the news about Grammy. He closed his eyes and smacked his head against the back of his seat, wishing he could get control over his disordered emotions.  “Sorry. _Sorry_. Shit. Maybe you’re right. We’ll talk later. I think…I think what I need right now is a drink. A very large, very strong drink.” _If for no other reason than to sterilize his mouth and get rid of the taste of Detective Green._

He felt Harvey’s hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes, staring straight ahead at the cement wall in front of them, still afraid to meet Harvey’s gaze.

“You’re in luck kid,” said Harvey, and there was nothing in his tone of voice now except that heart-stopping kindness, “I’ve got whatever you need upstairs.”

Mike nodded, feeling the prick of tears again, and let his fingers scrabble blindly over the passenger door until he found the door handle. He opened the door and stepped out, and only when his feet touched the cold cement ground did he realize that he had never put his shoes back on.

He stared stupidly down at the blue wool socks on his feet, and suddenly the whole night came crashing back in on him, replaying in his mind in a dizzying, nauseating rush: Fordnam, the gun, being beaten and nearly raped, trapped beneath the mountainous weight of a still-warm corpse, paralyzing panic, Harvey’s voice in his ear, the two detectives with their questions and insinuations, feeling trapped and weak.

God, Green had played him perfectly, frightened him by constructing a false story that now, _now,_ Mike could see was full of holes and ridiculous leaps of logic, but Mike – stupid, _stupid_ Mike – had fallen for it and slid right back into his role, acted the compliant little whore for him. And with pure perfect fucking timing, Harvey had arrived just in time to witness his humiliation.

Harvey had to have been disgusted, and he surely had been angry. Mike had heard it in his voice, seen it in his eyes. If he hadn’t been carrying the news about Grammy, hadn’t already been filled with pity for Mike, the anger would have won out, and he probably would have turned right around and left Mike there. And who could have blamed him?

A shadow fell across his toes and then he felt a warm body at his back and a hand on his arm shaking him back to awareness.

“Mike? Where’d you go?”

He yearned to lean back into the solid body, wished he had the right to expect strong arms to pull him close and steady him. He shook his head to clear it and tried to step away, but Harvey still held his arm. Turning his head, he saw his sneakers dangling from Harvey’s other hand. He took them from Harvey, bent down and nearly did a header on the concrete when a wave of dizziness hit him.

Harvey was right there in an instant, squatting beside him with a concerned look which morphed with lightening speed into anger. He grabbed Mike’s chin and tilted his head as if trying to get a better look at something.

“Who did this?” he growled. At Mike’s blank stare, his eyes seemed to go darker. “Your face. I didn’t notice it in the car. Somebody hit you. Who was it?”

Mike’s hand went to his right cheek and he winced at the pain. It felt swollen, and he was sure he must have a nicely developing bruise.

A snippet of dialog from a movie whispered in his mind and he nearly laughed out loud at the absurd, idiotic _aptness_ of it: “ _Why do guys always know how to hit a woman? Right across the check, wham, so it feels like your eye is gonna explode. What do they do, take you all aside in high school and show you how?”_ He was no woman but he’d taken more than his share of hits in the last few months, and as far from _Pretty Woman_ as his life might be, Vivian had absolutely gotten that part right.

Harvey was waiting for an answer. Mike realized he’d zoned out again, and hoped that this wasn’t going to become a regular thing. “It was Fordnam,” he said dully. “I guess I didn’t exactly live up to his expectations.”

Harvey growled again, this time wordlessly. “Stand up,” he ordered. Mike did, and then watched, bemused, as Harvey carefully slipped the sneakers onto Mike’s feet, laced them up and tied them, while Mike balanced himself with a hand on Harvey’s shoulder. Finally, Harvey stood up. “Come on,” was all he said, and led the way to the elevator.

 

******

 

Inside his condo, Harvey went straight to the kitchen, tossed his overcoat and tuxedo jacket over the wide counter top separating the kitchen from the living room, and opened the cabinet holding his stash of alcohol. “What do you want?” he asked, pulling off his tie, unfastening his cufflinks and rolling his shirt sleeves up to his elbows.

“Don’t care,” Mike mumbled.

Harvey glanced into the living room and saw the boy slumped on the sofa, staring fixedly at the floor. Deciding the situation called for something old and expensive, he poured out a couple of healthy shots each of MacAllan 30-Year scotch into two heavy cut crystal glasses. Then he pulled a cold pack from his freezer, wrapped it in a soft kitchen towel and carried it and the drinks out to the living room. He handed Mike a glass first.

“Drink,” he ordered.

Without lifting his gaze, Mike took the glass from Harvey, drank cautiously, raised his eyebrows with a surprised look on his face, and then sipped again, obviously savoring the amber liquid before swallowing.

Harvey sat next to him, leaving a foot of space between them. He held out the cold pack so that Mike could see it. “Hold this against your cheekbone.” When Mike accepted the folded towel but only stared blankly at it, Harvey made a _tsk_ ing sound with his tongue and leaned back. “Trust me, kid, it helps.” He took a mouthful of scotch, let the smooth peaty flavor explode over his tongue, and looked on approvingly as Mike lifted the cold pack to his face, winced, but kept it there.

They sat there together like that for a while. When Mike’s scotch was half gone, Harvey leaned forward a little, elbows on his knees. “Just so you know, I’m not going to badger you into saying anything. But if you do want to talk about it -- to talk about anything -- I’m here. Unload on me. No judgments. Anything you tell me stays inside these walls.”

Mike gave him a funny look. “I thought you said you preferred to wait until later.”

Harvey had to smile at that. “I was referring to your specific questions downstairs. About our... _relationship_.” He was proud of himself for not even stumbling or stuttering over the word. “What I meant just now, was if you needed to talk about what happened tonight, or about your grandmother....” Mike’s face tightened at the mention of her, and Harvey winced in sympathy.

“Oh.” Mike tipped his glass and gulped down the rest of his scotch in what Harvey considered a blasphemous disregard for the sacred _awesomeness_ of the liquor, and then set his empty glass on the coffee table and leaned back with the cold pack pressed to his cheek. “Well. Tonight. I suppose it is a rather dramatic, harrowing tale. Be sure to send the kids out of the room, though.” He gave a weird little bark of laughter that ended in a hiccup, and turned his head to level a serious gaze at Harvey. “You sure you want to hear this?”

_Hell fucking no._ “Absolutely.”

So Mike told him, and it was every bit as awful as Harvey had expected. The worst part might have been Mike’s flat, emotionless tone as he told of having a gun shoved into his hand, being hit, assaulted. It was as if the boy was describing just another day at the office, and it pained Harvey to realize that in effect, that’s what it was. He wondered how routine these sorts of things had become for Mike, but didn’t ask.

When Mike got to the part where the two detectives had questioned him, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Mike,” he practically groaned, “they had nothing on you. They were manipulating you. Bullying you. If you were planning on robbing the guy, why would you still be there? Why leave the gun and the money where they could find them?”

“I _know,_ ” Mike said testily. “I couldn’t think straight. It was a high pressure situation.”

Harvey refilled both of their glasses from the bottle he had carried out halfway through Mike’s story. “And that is why I instructed you to keep your mouth shut until I got there.”

Mike tossed the cold pack on the table, stood and started to pace restlessly, taking frequent sips of scotch. “I tried to. But _jesus._ You were taking forever. I was starting to think you weren’t really coming.”

Harvey rolled his eyes at Mike’s back. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there was a fucking blizzard in progress. And there was a three car wreck on the freeway. I got held up.”

Mike made a mumbling noise in his throat, turned around, and paced back to the end of the couch, where he stood staring past Harvey and out the window. “That fucking guy,” he muttered, before drinking deeply.

“What’s that?”

“Green. The detective.” Mike spoke the word like an expletive, drank again and wrapped his free arm across his chest. “I wish....” He stared at the ground with a tortured expression.

Harvey waited, but when Mike just stood there, swaying slightly, he prompted gently, “You wish what?”

Mike lifted his gaze to Harvey’s, and his eyes were wide and shining and filled with pain. “I wish to god you hadn’t seen that.”

“Mike....”

“How stupid is that, right? I mean, you know what I am, how I earn my money. Earned. You know...I know you know....we both know. Everybody knows.” He dropped his gaze, and looked even sadder, if that was possible. “Grammy knew,” he whispered, wide eyes focused on the cushion next to Harvey. “I was going to see her tomorrow.” He took a deep, gulping breath and looked up at the ceiling. “No, today. Today I was going to tell her I was through with being a whore. That I was going to get my shit together, finish school, and make her proud of me.”

Mike resumed pacing, muttering half to himself and gesturing wildly with his glass, which luckily for Harvey’s floor was nearly empty. “Too late. I fucked it up. Fucked it all up. She’ll never know. I can’t change that. Can’t fix it. Shit. _Shit shit shit._ ”

He went on like that for several minutes. Harvey waited for him to wind down, but he only seemed to grow more and more agitated, running a hand through his close-cropped hair, chest heaving as if breathing had become painful. When his knuckles grew white against the glass, Harvey stood and moved behind him, snatched the glass out of his hand and set it on a table, and held Mike’s arms at his sides. He rested his chin on Mike’s shoulder.

“Mike,” he murmured, “you need to calm down.”

Mike struggled to get free. “Bullshit,” he snarled. “What the fuck do you know about it?”

“I know you’re upset. I understand that. But this isn’t helping.”

After another half minute of wriggling and exerting himself in an effort to break Harvey’s hold on him, the fight went out of him and Mike sagged back against him. Harvey wrapped one arm around his middle, steered him back to the couch and helped him sit down. He stared down at Mike until the boy lifted his head and fixed him with an imploring look.

“I feel...” Mike said, and took a few quick, gasping breaths. “I don’t know what to do.” He squeezed his eyes shut and raised a fist to rap against the side of his head in a slow, steady beat. “I can’t turn it off. I feel like my head is about to go up in flames.”

He started to rock, to strike himself harder. Harvey allowed that to continue for a few seconds before reaching down to grab Mike’s wrist stopping him. “ _Don’t_.” He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but it had the desired effect. Startled eyes stared up at him. Then, before he could say anything else, Mike moved with a grace that Harvey didn’t remember, sliding to his knees at Harvey’s feet, head tipped back, and blue gaze fixed on Harvey as if he was the only light in the dark, dangerous place where he’d become trapped.

“Mike,” he protested. “No....”

“Please, Harvey,” Mike whispered. “I need....” He closed his eyes and swallowed.

Harvey touched Mike’s head, felt the tiny tremors shivering through him. He sighed. “Tell me. What do you need?”

Mike leaned in, head resting on Harvey’s hip. “I need to feel something real. To turn off my brain.” He bit his lip, chewed on it for a moment. “I want you to hurt me.”

Harvey’s stomach gave a strange flip. “Mike, I don’t think I can do that.”

Blue eyes, wet with unshed tears, looked up at him. Mike seemed to be thinking hard, coming to a decision. “If you don’t,” he finally said, chin tilted up in an attitude of defiance, “I’ll find someone who will. I have half a dozen sadists on speed dial who would jump at the chance of a freebie.”

Harvey went very still as anger sparked through his nerve endings. Thick silence hung between them. He struggled to remain calm and impassive even as impulse urged him to throw Mike over his knees and give him what he was begging for.

His hand on Mike’s head tightened slightly while he thought it over. Their first time together -- their only time together, he reminded himself -- he’d told Mike that he wasn’t into giving pain. He believed that was still true. But he didn’t need to be into it to give Mike the release he needed, to help him get out of his head a little so he could at least get some sleep. Harvey remembered his own father’s death, how devastated he’d been, and how much healing a simple night’s sleep had afforded him.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll do what I can.” He sat on the couch and gripped Mike’s chin, pinning him with his gaze. “Tell me what you want. And please be specific.”

With those words, some of the tension seemed to go out of Mike. “I...I want you to hit me. Spank me. _Hard_.” He shiver and blushed, as if already imagining it. “I want you to use your hand, or....” He glanced at the kitchen and then back at Harvey, and shivered again. “Or if you have something like a wooden spoon or a spatula, that would be...good.”

Mike’s pupils had dilated, and he had begun to breathe faster. Harvey opened his mouth to agree, but Mike wasn’t finished yet.

“And,” he whispered, “maybe you could tell me what to do. You know, order me around. Like you did when I was here before?” He stared down at the floor. “I liked that. And...and after you beat me black and blue, I want you to fuck me senseless.”

_Oh boy._

Normally Harvey wouldn’t object to any of that, but with the fragile emotional state the boy was in...

_Face it,_ he told himself, _you’re just feeling guilty because you want this as much as he does. Except for the black and blue part. Cherry red will do just fine._

He took a deep breath, then, “Stand up,” he snapped out.

Mike scrambled to his feet.

“Strip.”

Mike divested himself of his clothing with a speed that impressed Harvey, then stood in front of him, back straight, cheeks flushed and chest heaving as if he were hyperventilating. Harvey couldn’t help himself. From his seated position, he reached out and ran a hand down Mike’s hip and around to his ass. With two hands now, he turned the unresisting boy so his pale, muscular, unmarked ass faced him, and stroked him, letting his hands slide underneath to cup his buttocks. He dropped a kiss onto each one,and then, moving swiftly so as to surprise Mike, he slid one hand between Mike’s legs and pinched his inner thigh hard. Mike gasped and shuddered.

Harvey pulled him closer, so that he was between his legs, and let his hands roam around to Mike’s chest. He fingered Mike’s nipples until they hardened and contracted, and then gave a vicious squeeze to both at the same time. Mike gasped and arched his back, head falling back a little. One of Harvey’s hands slid down Mike’s stomach to grasp his cock, which was hard and bobbing against his stomach. Satisfied that Mike was fully with the program, Harvey removed his hands from him and leaned back in his seat.

“Go to the kitchen and look in the wide drawer on the left. Pick one utensil and bring it back here.”

He purposely kept his gaze away from Mike, letting him make his own choice. While listening to him rummaging through the drawer, Harvey picked up his glass and drained the rest of his scotch, welcoming the fortifying warmth that spread through him.

After a few minutes, Mike returned carrying a heavy wooden spoon that Harvey couldn’t remember ever using. Mike handed him the spoon and Harvey considered the possibilities. Over the lap? Enjoyable, but maybe too intimate for the circumstances. He stood up and guided Mike to the back of the couch.

“Bend over. Arms out.” He stretched Mike’s arms along the length of the sofa back, kicked his feet a little wider apart so his ass stuck out. “Good.” He held the spoon in front of Mike’s face and without being asked, Mike placed his lips on the spoon and kissed it. Harvey’s stomach gave another little flip.

_Killing me. Too absolutely fucking beautiful._

Now he hesitated, not sure how many whacks Mike needed. He could ask him, but Mike obviously wanted Harvey in control here. “I’ll continue until I decide you’ve had enough. If you need to stop before then, I want you to say ‘red.’ Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

_Fuuuck._

Ignoring his own arousal, pushing away all thoughts of how powerful and _alive_ he felt with his boy naked and vulnerable in front of him, Harvey raised the spoon over Mike’s backside and held it there, letting the suspense build. Then he brought it down in a firm swat. Mike jumped, and a red mark bloomed on his pale bottom.

_Oh. Okay. That’s...pretty hot._

Harvey swallowed and struck Mike again. And again. He worked up a nice rhythm, alternating between cheeks. Mike grunted and twitched and moaned and Harvey experimented with harder strokes, softer and faster strokes with wrist action thrown in. He kept a close eye on Mike and noted when the tension in his back smoothed out and he relaxed and seemed to move into the strokes, making little _aahh_ sounds, so beautiful and perfect.

When Mike’s ass was flaming red, Harvey dropped the spoon to the ground and cupped Mike’s cheeks, feeling the delicious heat they radiated. Mike panted, back trembling. Working on pure instinct and building desire, Harvey helped him stand led him back around to the front of the couch, sat down and pulled Mike over his lap.

_Too intimate? Fuck that. He’d give the boy what he needed. What_ _Harvey needed._

“I’m going to use my hand on you now.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah okay,” he slurred.

Harvey pressed one hand to Mike’s back, raised the other hand and brought it down sharply on Mike’s ass. The boy jumped and then settled, turning his head sideways to rest his cheek on the cushion. His eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at Harvey with a dreamy look. “More,” he whispered. “ _Please.”_

And how could Harvey refuse such pretty begging? He squeezed Mike’s ass, eliciting a gasp and blissed out smile. “Just a few more,” he said. Mike nodded again and closed his eyes.

Harvey didn’t hold back. He spanked Mike hard and fast, alternating sides until his palm was tingling. Mike lay bonelessly over his lap, his hard cock heavy against Harvey’s thigh. At ten smacks, Mike sighed and ground against Harvey. At twenty, silent tears slipped down his cheeks. Harvey slowed and continued until the count was at thirty. Mike’s back heaved and shuddered and one hand had reached back to clutch Harvey’s leg. Harvey stopped and ran a hand in soothing circles over Mike’s heated bottom.

“Shh,” he whispered, bending over Mike to pet his hair. He dropped a kiss on the back of his neck and then rolled Mike and gathered him up so he was sitting in Harvey’s lap. Harvey wrapped his arms around the boy and felt Mike’s wet face press against his neck. “Just let it all out,” he comforted. “It’s all right, baby. It’s going to be all right.”

For the second time that night, Mike clung to him and sobbed his heart out. Unlike the first time, Harvey was able to wrap him up, surround him with his strength. And as they sat there, tangled up together, it was as if tiny, invisible tendrils were working their way inside of Harvey and winding around and around his heart. He wouldn’t have identified them as the product of some sentimental emotion. Rather, they arrived with a (figurative) neon sign that flashed over Mike’s head with one word, over and over: _Mine._

_Mine._

After a time, Mike’s tears slowed and stopped, and he started moving against Harvey in a more suggestive manner. He shifted positions so that he was on his knees, straddling Harvey. He rubbed himself against Harvey’s thigh, dipped his head to place a series of kisses on Harvey’s collarbone. Harvey moved his hands to Mike’s hips, stopping his movements.

“What are you doing?” he asked Mike.

Mike lifted his head, eyes wide and wet, gaze fixed on Harvey’s mouth. “Section two, paragraph one.”

“What?” Frowning, he lifted Mike’s chin until the boy met his gaze.

Mike’s hand crept inside the collar of Harvey’s dress shirt while his foot toyed with Harvey’s calf. “You still owe me a fuck.”

“Oh, I _owe_ you, do I?” He dropped a quick kiss on Mike’s mouth, which opened beneath his without hesitation. Harvey deepened the kiss, tasting expensive scotch. Slender arms with more defined muscles than he remembered twined around his neck while Mike sucked Harvey’s tongue into his mouth and teased it with the tip of his own tongue.

When Harvey pulled his head away, they were both breathing harder. “You sure about this?” he asked Mike, feeling vaguely guilty, as if he would be taking advantage of the boy.

Mike ducked his head. “Fuck, yes,” he breathed against Harvey’s neck, teeth grazing his skin, tongue licking a spiral underneath Harvey’s ear, making him shiver with arousal.

Harvey reached between them for Mike’s cock and gave it a couple of lazy strokes. He slapped Mike’s already abused bottom sharply, loving the way he gasped and squirmed.

“All right. You seem pretty sure. Get in the bedroom and wait for me on the bed.”

Mike slid off his lap and stood in front of Harvey, hesitating, as if he thought maybe Harvey wouldn’t follow through.

“I’ll be right there,” Harvey assured him. “And if your thoughts threaten to overwhelm you again, I want you to focus on one thing, and one thing only.”

“What’s that?”

Harvey caressed his hip. “Think about how you’re going to feel with my cock stuffed all the way inside you, filling you up and making you scream.”

Mike’s eyes, almost black with arousal, met Harvey’s. “Okay,” he whispered. He didn’t move for a moment, so Harvey turned him around and gave him a swat. This had the desired effect. Mike hurried into the bedroom while Harvey enjoyed the sight of his retreating ass.

Harvey sagged back against the sofa, letting out a long breath, and took another moment to wonder if he was doing the right thing. Mike had been both physically attacked and emotionally traumatized tonight. An honorable man might believe that it was better to wait, to give him some space, let him deal with his emotions before taking charge of him and potentially confusing him even more.

Harvey liked to believe he was honorable. He could ignore his own desires, could wait a little while to satisfy the insane lust he felt for Mike. The boy, however, had threatened to find someone else if Harvey wouldn’t fuck him into the mattress, and while normally Harvey would unhesitatingly call a bluff like that, in Mike’s case he wasn’t willing to take the risk that it wasn’t a bluff. He’d rather be damned as a manipulative bastard than let one of Mike’s clients -- _former clients_ , he reminded himself -- put their hands on him again.

_He’s mine_.

It might be crazy -- _he_ might be a little unhinged at this point, he was willing to admit -- but _goddamn_ it, he wished for nothing more than to bury himself in that tight little ass and lose himself to pleasure while he helped Mike forget the pain of his loss.

_Win-win, right?_

_Uh huh._

_Shut up,_ he told himself and stalked towards the bedroom, undoing the studs on his shirt as he went.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter...

When Harvey didn’t immediately follow him in, Mike slid off the bed and prowled restlessly around the bedroom. It had been months since he’d been in here, but it looked just the same as he remembered it. Harvey’s toy drawer was also where Mike remembered it. He poked through it for a couple of minutes, idly wondering what was taking Harvey so long. The long, hard spanking Harvey had given him had settled him down somewhat, had quieted and slowed his thoughts. He could feel them beginning to stir once again, like waking ghosts, or dry leaves being teased by a gradually rising storm.

As Harvey had instructed, he tried to keep his mind occupied with explicit images of Harvey thrusting into him, owning him….He’d said he would make Mike scream and Mike could hardly wait to see if he was right about that.

With one finger, he lifted a pair of ice blue lace panties and a faint smile touched his mouth. Not tonight, but soon, maybe, he’d surprise Harvey with those -- assuming that he saw Harvey again after this. He dropped the panties back in the drawer, dug around some more, and found the leather cuffs he was looking for. _Perfect._

He took a few minutes to prep himself with Harvey’s expensive lube, and then arranged himself on his knees, the cuffs anchoring him to the head of the bed and placing just enough strain on his shoulders and outstretched arms so he could feel a hint of discomfort.

When Harvey walked through the door a few minutes later, the little hum of approval he gave made something inside Mike ache to sit up and beg for more, or maybe crawl on the floor to press grateful kisses on Harvey’s feet. Since he was currently unable to do either, he spread his knees wider and lowered his head as far as his position allowed.

Behind him came the sounds of clothing being removed and set aside. The bid dipped and Harvey’s hand stroked his still warm bottom, making Mike squirm with pleasure. A long finger slipped between his legs, testing his entrance. “Mmm. Such a clever boy,” Harvey murmured, kissing the small of Mike’s back. “All open and slick and ready for me. You’re so good. Such a good, obedient boy.”

The praise felt like sweet balm soothing Mike’s raw and bruised emotions. He closed his eyes, wishing he’d used the blindfold, and listened to the sounds of Harvey ripping open a wrapper, rolling a condom onto his cock, slicking himself up, even though he didn’t need to, because Mike was his good boy and he was ready for Harvey.

He jumped a little when Harvey’s lube-slippery hand reached underneath him and found Mike’s cock, pumping it slowly a few times. Mike moved in counterpoint to his hand and when it was withdrawn, he gave a sighing whine which turned into a keen of pleasure at the feel of Harvey pushing into him in one long, steady, forceful movement.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, because it felt so good to be filled by Harvey, anchored by the chest pressed against his back, caged by his arms and legs.

Then Harvey started moving. Mike tried to shift his hips back to meet him, but Harvey brushed his lips against Mike’s ear and murmured, “Uh uh. Let me do all the work, baby. All I want you to do is hold on tight and feel. I’m going to ride you hard and fast, just like you need me to, and I want to hear you. Don’t hold anything back. Understand?”

Mike whimpered at the commanding tone and pulled the chain taut between his wrists and the headboard, laying his head on his arms. “Fuck me,” he begged. “God, Harvey _please_. Do it now. Fuck me.”

Harvey slammed into him. Mike gasped, barely had time to draw a full breath before Harvey did it again, and then he was grunting and thrusting into Mike with a force and speed that emptied Mike’s head of all thought. He was only dimly aware of Harvey’s hand braced on the headboard above him as he pounded into Mike with such a single-minded purpose that soon Mike felt like he was flying, that all that energy lifted him up and launched him into wide open space.

He moaned like a wanton when Harvey fisted his cock and started jerking him off, moaned and cursed as he felt himself getting close. Harvey’s punishing thrusts grew shallower, more focused, but never slowed as he rubbed his thumb over the head of Mike’s cock, gave it a half dozen twisting strokes, and pumped him hard, moving his hand up and down so quickly that the friction could almost have ignited a fire.

Harvey let go of the headboard and pinched Mike’s nipple brutally, bit down on his shoulder, and then slapped his ass and growled, “Come, boy,” and Mike came hard, exploding with a full body convulsion, and screaming himself hoarse. He collapsed, and heard Harvey’s yell of triumph, felt him shudder around him, clutching him around the middle and panting harshly.

Mike didn’t remember much after that. His mind had gone hazy, every muscle lax, and it felt better than drugs, better than anything. Part of him registered that Harvey had pulled out, had uncuffed him, turned him over and cleaned him up, but he was drifting, at peace for the moment. And when Harvey dropped down next to him, wrapped him in his arms and pulled the covers over both of them, Mike sighed contentedly, let go of all his worries and grief, and allowed himself to slide into dreamless sleep.

 

******

 

Bright sunlight pouring through the bedroom window woke Harvey a few hours later. Mike had moved closer to Harvey as they slept, and now his slender form was plastered to Harvey’s side, one arm clinging to his waist and one leg draped over both of Harvey’s. Trying not to wake the boy, Harvey began disentangling himself, but despite his best efforts, Mike came awake almost instantly, rubbing his eyes and then rolling away and sitting abruptly with a look of panicked disorientation on his face.

“Shit! My bad. Sorry. Sorry...I’ll just grab my stuff and get out of here.” He blinked sleep out of his eyes and finally seemed to recognize Harvey, and to recall where he was. “Oh. Hi. Good morning.” He relaxed a little, but still seemed poised to flee at the slightest provocation.

Harvey cocked an eyebrow at him. “You know you’re welcome to stay, right?”

Mike blushed and gave a pained smile. “Conditioned response. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” Mike looked ready to speak, and Harvey cut him off. “If you’re about to apologize for all of the apologies, I may be tempted to put you over my knee again.”

Mike appeared abashed and aroused at the same time, which was an intriguing look on him.

“Come here,” Harvey growled, holding out an arm, and Mike crawled back over to snuggle up next to him. Harvey let his hand rest on Mike’s head, moving his fingers idly through the short hair, massaging his scalp lightly. “How are you feeling?”

Mike thought about that for a few seconds. “Okay,” he said, sounding surprised. “Really okay. I mean, I’m still sad about Grammy, and I probably will be for a long while, but I’m not...I don’t....” He raised his head a little so he could look Harvey in the eye. “Thanks. For last night. Seriously, I don’t know what I would have done....” He trailed off, and something dark passed over his expression and was gone.

Harvey grunted and tightened his arm around Mike, who dropped his head back to Harvey’s shoulder. They lay in silence for a few minutes, while Harvey debated whether to get up and make coffee, or -- He felt warm fingers glide over and under the length of his cock, which showed immediate interest in the skilled, confident touches.

“Mike,” he began, but never finished the thought because just then Mike wriggled out of his hold and disappeared underneath the covers. Seconds later, slick heat and perfect suction engulfed Harvey’s cock as Mike deep throated him and Harvey bucked up with a strangled yell. “ _Shit._ Oh fuck, Mike, that’s....” The power of speech deserted him. He peeled back the covers so he could admire the sight of Mike, head bobbing and cheeks hollowing so beautifully. When Mike pulled off a little and demonstrated what his tongue could do, Harvey was certain his eyes rolled back in his head at how exquisite it felt.

“I’m close,” he gasped. Mike’s head fell forward again, and Harvey felt the boy’s nose nudging his inner thigh. Mike hummed and swallowed, working his throat around Harvey, and that was it. Harvey thrust upwards and came explosively, shouting wordlessly, his shaking hands cradling Mike’s skull as the boy moved his mouth back up Harvey’s cock and sucked and swallowed everything Harvey gave him. Harvey fell back against the pillows and his spent cock slipped from Mike’s lips. The boy gazed up at him, looking positively decadent and debauched, and Harvey loved it.

“Holy fuck, Mike,” he breathed when he remembered how to speak again. Mike had collapsed with his face against Harvey’s hip. Harvey stroked Mike’s head, feeling as content as he could ever remember being. Right about now was when he normally started looking for the exit, or if he was at home, thinking of ways to gracefully push his partner toward the exit. None of those instincts for flight seemed to apply to Mike. He felt like he could happily lie here for hours. Then he became of aware of the way Mike was subtly humping his leg, and felt his hard cock rubbing against him. Another time, he might be in the mood to tease Mike, torture him a little and make him wait for his release, but this did not seem like the right time.

“Get up here,” he ordered, dragging Mike higher in the bed until he was lying with his back pressed to Harvey’s chest. Harvey reached over him for the lube, coated two fingers and reached between Mike’s legs to plunge them into his hole. Mike moaned and arched back into him and Harvey fucked his fingers in and out until Mike was squirming and starting to make needy, whining noises.

With his free hand, Harvey grabbed for Mike’s hard cock, captured some of the precome and stroked it down Mike’s rigid length. He started a slow, firm, twisting rhythm, at the same time curling his fingers inside of Mike until he found the right spot and Mike ground down on him, cursing incoherently. Harvey sped up the hand jerking him off, pumping up and down as Mike strained between the dual sensations, gasping and grabbing for Harvey’s arm, trying to hold it in place so he could better ride his fingers. “Yeah thatsit,” he babbled, eyes squeezed shut. “Oh god Harvey so good.”

Harvey forced a third finger inside Mike, wishing he’d taken the time to grab one of his toys, but that seemed to do the trick just fine because for the second time in just a few hours, Mike arched and howled as he came over Harvey’s fist. This time Harvey could watch the emotions that flowed across his face, and the beauty of it made his heart clench and hot triumph surge through his veins.

Mike collapsed back against him and Harvey wiped both hands on the sheets, wrapped Mike up in his arms and rained kisses on his face and neck. When that wasn’t enough, he rolled them both so that he was above Mike, and claimed his mouth in one long, slow kiss after another.

 

As much as Harvey wanted to continue lying there, to maybe fall back asleep with Mike next to him because it felt so good to wake up that way, he’d remembered something that shouldn’t be put off any longer. Still petting Mike’s hair, he said with regret at spoiling the boy’s peace, “There’s a phone call you need to make.” He could feel Mike tense against him and looked down to see confusion on his face. “To make arrangements for your grandmother. Unless there’s someone else…?”

Understanding dawned. Mike rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes. “Right. No, only me. Guess I wasn’t thinking about all that.”

Harvey squeezed his shoulder. “I can take care of it if you want.”

Mike glanced over at him. “No. This is my responsibility.” He started to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but Harvey stopped him.

“Stay. Relax. I’ve got your phone in my coat pocket. Let me get it for you, and then I’ll make us some coffee.”

He got up and went out to the living room, squinting a little at the bright day outside. After retrieving Mike’s phone for him and starting the coffee, he had a quick shower. By the time he was done and back with a mug of freshly brewed coffee, Mike had finished his conversation. He handed the coffee to Mike and started getting dressed.

“They’re impressively efficient,” Mike commented, sipping coffee. He was sitting up, leaning against the headboard with the sheets low on his hips and covering his legs. He looked so sexy that Harvey had a hard time not stopping everything to just drink in the sight of him. Mike had been working out, and it was a good look on him.

“We decided on a service right there at their chapel because that’s where all her friends were and it’s easier for them. So….” He trailed off, staring at nothing. The darkening bruise on his cheek stood out starkly on his pale skin in the bright sunlight streaming into the room.

Harvey fastened his jeans and pulled on an old t-shirt. “Let me know when it is. I’d like to go with you if that’s all right.”

Mike nodded, looking almost painfully grateful. “Thanks.”

“Why don’t I fix us some breakfast?”

Mike gave Harvey a surprised look, as if suddenly registering his appearance, from his damp, unstyled hair down to his bare feet. “Don’t you have to be at work or something?”

“It’s Sunday.”

“Oh.” Mike looked away.

“So, breakfast?”

A nod from Mike. “Sounds good. Guess I’ll go get cleaned up.” He hopped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

 

Half an hour later, they were seated across from one another at the kitchen bar, eating pancakes with sliced bananas and maple syrup. Mike’s mood was still subdued, so Harvey was surprised by how enthusiastically he attacked his food.

“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked, curious.

Mike looked up at him, cheeks filled with food. He blushed and swallowed. “Uh. Nothing yesterday. Too nervous. Friday night, I guess. No, wait, I was busy with…never mind. Must have been Friday morning.” He took another, smaller bite and washed it down with coffee. Finally he put down his fork and glared at Harvey. “ _What?_ ”

Harvey tilted his head slightly. “You need to eat regular meals.”

“It’s been an insanely busy month,” Mike said, and pushed his plate away, whether from loss of appetite or defiance, Harvey couldn’t be sure. He chose to let it go.

After a moment, he gestured towards Mike’s mug. “More coffee?”

The boy shook his head and stood up, pacing over to the window. “Snow’s melting,” he murmured, hugging himself around the middle. “Maybe I should take off.”

Harvey kept his voice and expression carefully neutral. “Somewhere you need to be?” Mike had told him he was done with hooking, but Harvey didn’t have the details yet and so he was apprehensive about Mike’s response. After all, he could have quit because one of his clients had insisted on exclusivity, which would be horribly ironic, considering the subject Harvey intended to broach with Mike.

Mike turned back to face Harvey. “No,” he said slowly, sounding as if he was surprised by his own answer. “Absolutely nowhere. As of today, my schedule is completely free.” He laughed without humor. “Wow.” This last was said quietly, as if to himself, while he rubbed the back of his neck.

Even as Mike appeared to be struggling to mentally adjust to his change in circumstances, Harvey’s own thoughts were racing along at a mile a minute. It wasn’t like he hadn’t imagined himself here, with Mike back in his home and occupying a place in his life. It was just that he hadn’t bothered to define what Mike’s place would be – what he wanted it to be. There had been a vague notion of maintaining some sort of sophisticated, no strings relationship with him, allowing Mike to go off and earn his money being fucked and played with by rich men, then returning to Harvey to be…fucked and played with?

Had Harvey really believed he would be content with such an arrangement? Perhaps not, because now that he knew Mike wouldn’t be selling himself anymore…well, Harvey would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to being relieved and unreservedly pleased that he wouldn’t have to share him.

In all of his vague imaginings and more concrete fantasies, though, he hadn’t bothered to consider what, if anything, Mike might want from him. Now, as he watched the boy, who was lost in his own thoughts, he realized that he absolutely, unequivocally, had to have Mike in his life. No one but Mike had ever made him feel so powerful and gentle at the same time. Obviously the boy needed – _craved_ – someone to submit to. That had been clear from the first time they met, and last night had only confirmed it.

Harvey had always been the one in control in his relationships, but all too often it was exhausting, a constant battle, especially with someone like Scottie, whose instinct for competition always seemed to override her desire to be loved and cherished.

With Mike, though…everything slotted into place so easily. Mike needed a firm hand, and Harvey could give him that, _wanted_ to give him that because what he received in return was so incredibly, breathtakingly beautiful.

He exhaled sharply, drumming his fingers on the counter top. He could sit there all day and rationalize his needs and desires to himself, could provide mountains of reasoned and well-organized arguments, but what it all boiled down to was this: he just fucking wanted the boy.

_He’s mine._

Maybe Mike knew that, and maybe he didn’t, but unless Harvey made him understand and accept it, he might walk out of here and out of Harvey’s life and that was unacceptable. So Harvey gathered his courage, stood up, and walked across the room behind Mike to settle his hands on his shoulders. Mike twisted his head and gave him a questioning look.

“Come sit down with me,” Harvey said. He led an unresisting Mike back to the couch, where they sat a few inches apart, each turned slightly to face one another. Now that it was time to lay it all out there, Harvey paused, unsure how best to begin. Finally, he just started talking.

“I hope you’ll stick around, Mike. Not just today, but….Look, I’ll be honest and tell you that I’m very pleased that you’re not seeing any more clients. It’s your life of course, your decision, but – “ He reached out and gently touched Mike’s bruised face. “I’ll feel so much better knowing you’re not putting yourself into dangerous situations.”

Mike frowned, but stayed silent.

“I don’t think I’m imagining that there’s something here, between us. Am I?”

Mike shrugged and gave Harvey a wary look. “Something?”

So. Not going exactly how he had planned this. Mike was looking at him like he was nuts, and Harvey couldn’t seem to marshal the right words. “Yeah, Mike. _Something_. After the last time you were here, I tried like hell to forget about you, but fate keeps throwing us back together. As if – shit, I don’t know – as if we have some kind of connection.” _Destiny._ The word popped into his head, but he shied away from it. “As if I was supposed to hire you as my associate all those months ago. Do you know how close I came?”

Mike was biting his lip, his expression growing hostile. “But you didn’t. You thought I’d make a better whore than an attorney.” He laughed harshly. “Although there are those who would argue that there’s little difference between the two professions.”

“Mike. _Goddamn it_. It was just a game. That’s all it was supposed to be. It’s not that I saw you as a whore, I was _attracted_ to you. I wish – I wish I had just asked you out on a date.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Why do you think?”

“Because you were an asshole!”

“Exactly.” Harvey paused and looked away, laughing a little. “I was an arrogant asshole who didn’t feel like playing by the rules. I could have broken one rule, and hired you as a fake lawyer, but at that exact, precise moment I wanted your body more than your mind, so I broke the rules of polite society and basic goddamn common sense. And look at where that got us. Got _you._ ”

He had to stop again as he recognized that his emotions were spinning away from him. He glared at the coffee table, part of him wanting to flip it, to smash things, to bellow out his rage – at himself. He breathed slowly and got himself back under control.

“So, long story short. I fucked up and I’m sorry.” He forced himself to meet Mike’s eyes, and was relieved that instead of angry, Mike now just looked confused. “And now I’m asking, as humbly as I know how – “

“Which is not very.” The hint of amusement in Mike’s voice was encouraging.

“Granted. But what I am asking for, Mike, is a do over.”

Mike’s mouth twisted, his brows lowered and he stared at Harvey, the picture of bewilderment. “That’s….what?”

Inspiration grabbed Harvey. He hadn’t intended this when he started, but suddenly it seemed so perfect. “Mike, I’d like to propose a little role play here.”

Cynicism clouded Mike’s expression. “Harvey….”

“Hear me out. I’ll be playing the newly made senior partner of a prestigious Manhattan law firm. You will be the cute but hapless college drop out – “

“Actually, I was kicked out.”

“Don’t interrupt. We’ll leave out the part with the briefcase full of pot. Don’t want to over complicate things.”

Mike looked half-amused and half-exasperated. “Should I go outside and knock?”

“No, just go over by the front door and pretend my assistant has called you to come in.”

Mike shook his head even as he stood up, skeptical but willing to play along. “Knock knock,” he deadpanned. “Oh hello, sir. My name is Rick Sorkin. Hey, did you ever figure out who that guy actually was?”

“Mike….”

“Fine.” He cleared his throat as if getting back into character, and Harvey had to hide a smile. “Hello, sir. My name is Rick Sorkin, and I’m a high-priced hooker on the run from the law. You mind if I hide out from the cops for a while?”

Harvey rolled his eyes, but let that pass. From there, their conversation followed the script of their first meeting almost verbatim. It surprised him that he remembered it so accurately. Mike, of course, would have no difficulty, because…well, because he was Mike.

Finally, at the point where Harvey had originally dismissed the idea of hiring Mike, he gave him a long assessing look and said, “I think I’ve found my new associate.”

Mike stared back expressionlessly. Then he frowned. “You’re serious.”

He couldn’t have been more surprised than Harvey was. “Yes, genius, I’m serious.”

“This is a legitimate job offer?”

“And this is the part where you accept.” Harvey waited, watching the emotions that chased one another over Mike’s expressive face.

Slowly, Mike shook his head. “No.”

“What? Mike I really am serious. The associate I hired was a total fuck up. I fired him months ago. I want you to come work for me.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean? That’s a lot, considering you never went to Harvard or passed the bar exam.”

“Under my own name. I know, irrelevant. But what the fuck ever.” He paused, and Harvey wished he could see inside his head and read his thoughts. “God, Harvey, what is this? A do over? Really? And this is just supposed to wipe out the last half year?”

Mike stood up and started an agitated pacing. “I would have jumped at the chance the first time around. But I’m not even the same person anymore. _Look at me, Harvey._ I’m an ex-hooker. I’ve done things that won’t ever leave me. I’ve let people use me in way that will never wash off.” He took several calming breaths. “I’ve spent most of my adult life fucking up. Got kicked out of college. Banned from Harvard. Let me best friend treat me like… _fuck_ that…never mind. I’ve cheated, whored, _broke my grandmother’s heart_ …and, and maybe killed her, maybe a little bit. I’m not doing this anymore. No more shortcuts. No more lies. No more screwing up. I want to be a good person, Harvey. I’m not going to start off my new life with another lie. So, no. Sorry. No do overs.”

By the time Mike was finished, Harvey felt about two feet tall. It wasn’t often that he miscalculated so badly, and he wasn’t used to the feeling. His attorney instincts told him to push Mike, press until it hurt, make him bend to his will.

He ordered his attorney instincts to shut the fuck up.

Mike’s pacing had stalled at the end of the couch. Harvey got to his feet and approached him cautiously.

“You’re right,” he said. “I made my choices, and you made yours, and here we are. Since you seem so certain, I rescind my offer.” He put a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “But listen to me carefully. You _are_ a good person. No. I’m talking now. Mike, I’m the one at fault here. I took advantage of what I saw as your weakness. I didn’t know it back then, but it seems clear to me now that you did what you did for your grandmother. That doesn’t make you a bad person. That makes you someone who understands about love and honor and sacrifice. That makes you someone I’m proud to know.”

Harvey broke off abruptly as he realized something. He stepped away from Mike, turned halfway away from him. “You know what? Maybe you should leave after all.”

Silence, and then, “ _Why?_ ” uttered in a plaintive, aggrieved tone.

“I was going to plead my case to you Mike, convince you that we’d be so great together, but it just occurred to me that maybe I’m the bad influence you should run from now.” He glanced at his watch, wondering if it was too early to pour himself a drink. Apparently ugly self-truths made him thirsty.

Suddenly he felt Mike plastered against his back, shaking with laughter. His arms wrapped around Harvey’s waist. “I hope you argue more eloquently when you’re in front of a judge,” Mike murmured in his ear.

“What are you doing, Mike?”

“I have no idea. But I’m sick of role playing. I’m the whore and you’re the john. I’m the saint, you’re the heel...what a load of shit. All of it. You are right about one thing. We are great together.” He laid a line of kisses along the side of Harvey’s neck. “Really, really great.”

“Mike....”

“I know, you’re trying to be noble.”

Harvey felt some of the the tension begin to leave him. “I am?”

“You are. And you know what? I don’t want noble. I just want Harvey.”

He tried to sound indignant, but it came out more breathless. “Should I be insulted?”

Mike turned him around and wound his arm around his neck. “You? I’d think you would consider that the greatest of all compliments.”

Harvey made a _hmph_ noise. “This conversation did not go at all how I intended.”

Mike was kissing his shoulder, his neck, his chin. “Other people...they screw everything up, don’t they?”

Harvey captured Mike’s head between his hands. “I want to see you again. Often. Exclusively.”

“Yes, yes and yes.” Mike’s blue eyes were gleaming as brightly as the sky outside.

Harvey kissed him, quick and hard, and then pulled back. “I want you to move in with me.”

“Open to future negotiation.” At Harvey’s questioning look, Mike clarified, “I’ve been accepted at Brooklyn University.” Harvey stared blankly. “I live in Brooklyn, Harvey. And I’m going to try for Brooklyn Law, so....”

Now Harvey scowled at him. “No. You have to go to Harvard. You can’t work with me if you go anywhere else.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “I’ll forgive you your inferior memory this one time, but I did just say I’m banned from Harvard. Besides, who said I wanted to work at your stupid firm anyway? I don’t want to be at the beck and call of the rich and powerful -- been there, done that. I may go into environmental law, or become a public defender, or who knows what?”

Harvey nodded slowly. That made more sense. That sounded like Mike. “Whatever you decide to do, you’ll be great at it.”

Mike’s playful look faded a little. “You think so?”

Harvey pulled him closer, mouth hovering over Mike’s. “Oh, I know so. Because if you try to slack off, even a little, I’m going to find that wooden spoon and teach you to behave.”

He could feel Mike’s cock start to harden -- _ah, youth_ \-- and closed the distance between their mouths, kissing Mike hungrily and feeling his passionate response.

 

 

**Epilogue**

****

“Shit shit shit,” Mike muttered, hopping into his jeans and scanning the bedroom for his other sneaker.

“Breakfast is ready,” Harvey called from the kitchen.

Mike spotted his shoe in the corner, underneath Harvey’s shirt. Trying to walk and put on the shoe at the same time, he stumbled into the living to see that Harvey had prepared waffles and fresh fruit.

“Ah, god, that looks great, but I don’t have time -- ”

“We talked about this. No more skipping meals.”

Mike shivered. He never grew tired of Harvey’s commanding voice. “I know, but I don’t want to be late on my first day of classes.”

Harvey set a mug of coffee at Mike’s place. “You won’t be. I’m having Ray drive you. Nope, no arguments. He told me he’s happy to do it.”

Mike smiled happily. “Okay. Just this once.” He slid onto the stool and attacked his breakfast, sparing quick glances at Harvey. “How are things going with Hardman?”

“Gah. It’s brutal. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’ll be gone after tonight’s vote, though. Good riddance.”

Mike nodded sympathetically. It had been a rough few weeks for Harvey, but the eager stress relief provided by Mike had been mutually satisfying. Mike squirmed on the stool to relive some of last night’s “satisfaction,” hiding his grin. He finished off his waffles, gulped some more coffee and looked at his watch. “I really do have to get going.”

Harvey walked him to the door, where he eyed Mike up and down and picked imaginary lint from his coat collar. He leaned in and kissed him almost somberly, but Mike felt heat and desire flare up between them, as it never failed to do. He broke it off before it ignited and leaned his forehead against Harvey’s shoulder. “So this is it,” he mumbled into Harvey’s expensive suit. He raised his head to find Harvey regarding him with warm affection in his brown eyes. “Back to school. Got any words of advice for me?”

Harvey appeared thoughtful, his head tilting to one side. “Just...let the big dog eat.”

That surprised a laugh out of Mike. “Did you seriously just quote _Tin Cup_ at me?”

Harvey hummed, only his eyes showing his amusement. His gaze darkened and dropped below Mike’s waist. “Show me,” he purred evilly.

And damn it all to hell, Mike was trying to approach this important day with a sense of dignity, and here was Harvey getting him all warm and flushed and hard. He didn’t even consider refusing so he fumbled with the button and zipper of his jeans, tugging them down to his thighs, exposing the lacy ice blue panties, already damp and distended.

“Beautiful,” Harvey whispered and palmed him roughly, setting his teeth against Mike’s neck before licking his way behind his ear. “I’ll be thinking of this when Hardman tries his next bullshit maneuver to take control of the firm.”

“That is so,” Mike panted, “fucking romantic.” He bucked up into Harvey’s hand and then melted into his kiss, clutching Harvey’s biceps. A moment later he was whining as Harvey pulled away.

“And you can think of _that_ when you’re deciding whether to stay at your apartment or come back here tonight.” Harvey sounded harsh and impassive, but Mike could hear how erratic his breathing had grown.

Mike fastened himself back up, picked up his messenger bag and opened the door. “I told you I want to get settled into my schedule before I move the rest of my things.” He smirked at Harvey. “And here’s one more thing for you to think about. Me, a year from now, accepting a diploma at the graduation ceremony, you hauling me off somewhere to fuck me in my cap and gown, and when you bend me over and flip up the gown, I’m wearing nothing but these lacy blue panties.”

Harvey’s eyes had gone nearly black as Mike spoke and he looked about half a second away from lunging across the space that separated them and dragging Mike back inside. While he was still frozen in place, Mike smiled sweetly at him. “Have a nice day, dear,” he said, and shut the door behind him.

Harvey would make him pay for that, he knew, and he couldn’t wait.

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and there you have it. One stupid, simple little porn tale that got completely out of control. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing it. I'm slightly apprehensive that I may have covered too much ground in this final chapter, but it all just sort of blargled its way out of me, and it seemed to flow pretty well, so... I'm spiking the ball and calling it a game.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and special thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a comment or kudos. You may not realize it, but hearing my phone go *blee-bloop* is sometimes what I need in order to go on with my crappy day.
> 
> Oh, and before I forget: 3.14159265359 (for those to whom I promised pie).


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